The Art of Self-Preservation
by shoeberray
Summary: Blaise's mother always taught him that self-preservation was the only rule in life, but he finds that it's easier said than done when he ends up having to use all his deception and intelligence to live through being thrown into Slytherin house in 1944. When joining a young Voldemort is just as dangerous as opposing him, Blaise doesn't have many appealing options to choose from.
1. Chapter 1

Blaise's mother taught him the art of self preservation from the moment he could understand English. Actually, Blaise was pretty sure Berenice Zabini lectured on about self preservation as soon as he was placed in her arms at the hospital, newly born. Having not had the capacity to understand speech at the time, Blaise couldn't know for sure, but he felt certain his mother would have considered ramblings about survival of the fittest to be appropriate bedtime stories for a baby.

"You can't let anyone take you for a fool, Blaise," Berenice would tell her toddler son when the mood struck her. "People always want something from you. They'll play nice and tell you what you want to hear and when they've gotten what they want from you, they'll abandon you. You can't expect anyone but yourself to do what's best for you."

Berenice knew how to succeed using her looks. Her biggest strengths were her looks, intelligence, and cunning, and she had no problem using all three to get what she wanted. She manipulated and seduced men into giving her what she needed to provide for herself and her son. With the strengths Berenice was provided with, she became one of the most powerful witches in magical Europe no longer needing to associate herself with anymore rich and powerful men.

"The trick is to keep to yourself as much as possible," Berenice told Blaise. "You will inevitably make some enemies, but the best thing to do is to convince as many people as possible that you are on their side. People who make too many enemies always end up dead. There have been those with too much hubris who decide that they have enough skill and shrewdness to anger scores of powerful people. They always ended up taken down by the enemies they dismissed. Never anger someone enough that they want you dead if you can help it. If you do ever make such a mistake, find a way to permanently get rid of that person."

Blaise took what his mother said to heart. Maybe because she was his mother and as a child, that meant her words were gospel. Maybe because her words just made too much sense to her given his own observations throughout life. Either way, Blaise's beliefs formed out of his mother's beliefs, and he kept a suitable distance from all his housemates throughout his schooling.

It was easier in the earlier years of his schooling. His yearmates didn't care too much that he didn't want to associate with them much outside of the occasional greeting or short, meaningless conversations. None of them had a care in the world. They were all rich and connected children whose biggest responsibilities were getting grades that wouldn't completely embarrass their parents. They all had their power games, of course, trying to suss each other out to determine whose friendship might gain them the most in the future, but that was the extent of their attempts at acting like adults.

Blaise recognized the benefits to making friends, but he preferred keeping everyone on slightly friendly terms and hedging his bets on his dream to work in the Department of Mysteries. Blaise could only imagine all the secrets he could learn in the Department of Mysteries that would grant him power through knowledge. In his mind, knowledge afforded him the most opportunities for success. He excelled in his studies which made Blaise sure he could succeed in his dream.

In third year, Blaise did manage to form an acquaintanceship with a certain Padma Patil through their mutual interest in Arithmancy. They studied together often, and Blaise even let her ramble on about trivial subjects when he was in one of his more patient moods. Even that companionship ended in Blaise's sixth year.

Blaise's determination to skate easily through school having little to do with his schoolmates fell apart when Voldemort came back to power. Many Slytherin families had connections to Voldemort, and the whole house expected all Slytherins to throw in their support for Voldemort. During Voldemort's first reign, Berenice had managed to stay neutral by virtue of not being close enough to anyone for them to try and push her into joining the Death Eaters. If anyone asked, she threw in her support for Voldemort, but the truth was she didn't want anything to do with the dark lord. Berenice figured Voldemort would fall one day, and she didn't want to be linked to him when that happened.

In the midst of the ambitious next generation of Death Eaters, Blaise found it harder to completely stay out of the war. He truly wanted nothing to do with Voldemort. In his mind, aligning himself with a leader that didn't hesitate to murder his own followers at the tiniest slights was monumentally stupid. On the other hand, joining the opposition which consisted of those that would deny all evidence of Voldemort's return didn't seem particularly wise either. If Voldemort could come back from the dead unnoticed and proceed to take the steps necessary for victory also unnoticed, then Blaise didn't have much confidence in the rest of the wizarding world's ability to stop Voldemort. Even if he had thought Voldemort's defeat impending, Blaise wouldn't have felt safe going up against Voldemort while he lived in the Slytherin dorms.

As it were, Blaise tried to convince his housemates he was with them even as he continued avoiding involvement. It wasn't too hard to stay out of the war. School children weren't expected to do much outside of spreading the word to those that might be sympathetic to the cause. Blaise increased the amount of anti-mudblood rhetoric that came out of his mouth, ingratiated himself more to his housemates, and hoped for the war to end soon. Padma ended her friendship with Blaise when he failed to condemn Voldemort's side of the war.

What the idiots in his house couldn't understand was that the war was currently the most dangerous thing to their ambitions. Blaise didn't know what they hoped to gain from the war. They already had money and connections. All the war did was risk their lives and their stations. Blaise didn't know how his fellow Slytherins couldn't see how much they would fall in life if Voldemort fell and they were caught supporting him.

For Blaise's and Berenice's part, they didn't receive any fallout from Voldemort's demise having never participated in the war. Blaise was able to continue with his original life plan, passing his NEWTs with exceptional grades and get a job in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. The Department of Mysteries wouldn't come until he passed the appropriate tests and proved himself capable of properly handling the unknown. It was on the job that Blaise started his journey into the worst possible situation for a self preservationist.

It started with a typical call in; just a standard unexpected explosion in a bumbling wizard's house. Blaise headed over to the scene expecting to find an errant erumpet horn or something of similar nature. It was surprising how many witches and wizards would keep explosive items in their house with the idea that _they_ would never be careless enough to let it explode. Blaise had a lot of cases involving people like that.

When Blaise arrived at the scene, he cast spells to check for any remaining dangers. Finding nothing, he motioned to his team, and they proceeded forward, carefully picking through the wreckage for the cause of the explosion. Only twenty minutes passed when one of the searchers called out, "I found something!"

Blaise didn't look over immediately. His focus was occupied by a small object he found buried under a pile of splintered wood. Surreptitiously, he picked up the item and stashed it in his deep pocket. One never knew when a time turner might turn out to be handy.

Having successfully stolen the time turner without detection, Blaise gathered around with his other coworkers. A witch by the name of Liana Ainsworth stood in front of a charred and partially melted muggle radio. Ah, another common magical accident. Some magical persons liked the novelty of owning a quaint muggle object without even knowing the potential dangers or how to protect from those dangers. Electricity acted poorly to magic, and if exposed to enough magic, an electrical object could explode. Blaise thought anyone stupid enough and with poor enough taste to decorate their house with muggle items deserved to have their house demolished.

After another boring day of investigating and smoothing over people's idiocies, Blaise returned to his house. Despite living alone, Blaise's house had two stories and three bedrooms. He refused to suffer the indignity of residing in a small home. Blaise trudged up to the bedroom he preferred and carefully placed his time turner in a chest protected by spells. He couldn't risk anyone else getting their hands on that or accidentally setting it off. He'd seen enough of arrogant people that thought they would never stumble into a dangerous device to never make that mistake himself.

In the following days, Blaise put the time turner out of his mind. Unless he found a need for the thing, he had no reason to think of it. He only came across the time turner again when he went back into his secure chest to retrieve some polyjuice potion. He had a plan figured out to get the answers for his upcoming test. When possible, a Slytherin always cheated.

As Blaise reached in to grab his vial of polyjuice, the doorbell rang. Jerking his hand back in shock, Blaise jostled the time turner and that's when he noticed something wrong with it. Ignoring the doorbell for the time being, Blaise carefully picked up the time turner to examine it better. The screw on the ring was coming loose which shouldn't be possible without some tampering. That meant that the previous owner had been messing with the time turner, not surprising for someone that thought owning an electrical object in a magical atmosphere was a good idea. Blaise supposed he himself was an idiot for not noticing the loose screw previously. Blaise cursed as the doorbell rang again. Didn't the person know that no answer meant they should go away not ring the bell again?

With as much caution as possible, Blaise lay the defective timeturner on his bureau and headed downstairs to answer the door. The further he walked, the dizzier he felt. His mind staggered in time with his legs and he grasped onto the railing of the stairs tightly. He needed to sit down or he'd fall. Blaise hardly had time to register that he was in the process of passing out before he fell into the emptiness of unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

"Probably is not definitely," Berenice used to say. "Too many people like to ignore possibilities when they've determined the most likely one, but even with a 99% possibility that one time out of 100 will be what gets you into trouble. Take into account all possibilities, and you'll never get caught off guard."

Blaise thought of his mother's words as he gained consciousness and found himself staring at a portly middle aged woman holding him at wandpoint. She didn't look like much of a fighter, more like a typical housewife that spent most of her time dabbling in the more mundane aspects of magic. Blaise could probably disarm her before she had a chance to hit him with any spell, but probably wasn't definitely and Blaise didn't take chances.

"What are you doing in my house? Who are you?" the woman demanded with only a slight tremble in her voice. Her wand hand, though, was shaking violently with fear, presumably. Blaise stayed still as he took in his surroundings. This, in fact, was not his house which was quite a disconcerting conclusion to come to especially considering the staircase he sat on bore a remarkable resemblance to the very staircase he was recently descending. The resemblance was so remarkable that Blaise would have thought he was still in his own home if not for the gaudy decor he spotted in the room at the bottom of the staircase. There was an elegance to simplicity, a concept that the woman pointing her wand at Blaise had clearly never grasped.

"Please, calm down," Blaise said soothingly not bothering to stand up lest it startled the nervous woman. "I did not barge in on your home intentionally. If you contact the proper authorities, I'm sure everything will get sorted out shortly." If he got whoever arrived to call over Blaise's own apartment, they could be sure to figure out why he found himself teleported into someone else's home.

"I've already done that. The aurors will be here soon, so you better leave before you get arrested," the woman warned.

That didn't quite add up. If she had already reported an intrusion before Blaise gained consciousness, the aurors should have already arrived by now. Nevertheless, Blaise got up to leave. He was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and if this woman was letting him go, he was going to go. "Do you have any anti-apparition spells set up around the house?"

The woman looked offended that Blaise would even ask the question. "Of course. What sort of simpleton do you think I am? Exit through the front door." The woman would be surprised to learn how many witches and wizards did not properly secure their homes.

As the woman backed away from Blaise, leaving him a path to the door but keeping her wand trained on him, the front door burst open and a short, muscular man of about 50 strode in through the door. The woman yelped and cast a spell at the man who blocked it and disarmed the woman in one swift movement.

"Who are you people?" the woman asked, her voice quivering as she no longer had the ability to feign any calmness. "Are you working together?"

Ignoring the woman, the man eyed Blaise who quickly reached for his wand in his pocket. He didn't want a fight, but this looked like the kind of man who shot first and asked questions later. "I suppose it's you," the man said gruffly as he lowered his wand. Blaise relaxed his grip on his own wand slightly. Perhaps, he'd been wrong on his assumption.

"What's me?" Blaise asked with less eloquence than he would have liked. Accidentally teleporting into a stranger's house could temporarily decrease one's vocabulary and decorum.

"The aurors will be here any second!" The woman shrieked desperately. Neither Blaise nor the older man paid her any attention.

"You've caused quite an uproar in the Department of Mysteries. This is the first case we've had of its kind since 1793," the man said.

"The Department of Mysteries," the woman repeated with an awed whispered. The man glanced at her for the first time since he'd disarmed her.

"Pardon me for a moment," he said to Blaise before aiming his wand at the woman and shooting out a stupefy. He followed the stunning spell up with an obliviate and then faced Blaise who was starting to realize just how potentially dangerous his current situation was.

"What about when the aurors come?" Blaise asked.

The man barked out a laugh. "There aren't any aurors coming. Stella Varisha would never call the aurors. She's got too much to hide." Blaise decided it was time for a change of subject.

"You said you work for the Department of Mysteries?" Blaise said trying to facilitate a conversation until he deduced the best chance for escape.

"Oh, yes. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Llewelyn Geddes, a specialist in time related accidents. You can call me Lew for short."

Blaise hardly wanted to call the man anything. He just wanted to be away from the man, but Geddes' words caught his attention. "You're an unspeakable in the time department of the Department of Mysteries? Why are you here?" Could Blaise's defective time turner have something to do with it?

"You look like a man raised with proper instruction on etiquette," Geddes said. "Don't you know that it is polite to provide your own name once someone has introduced himself to you?"

"Forgive me," Blaise said playing along as he didn't have much of a choice. "I'm Blaise Zabini."

"And how did you end up here, Blaise Zabini?"

"I'm not sure," Blaise admitted. "I'm not even sure where here is."

"Are you not?" Geddes looked far too amused at Blaise's expense for Blaise's taste. "Why don't you look around and see if you spot anything familiar."

Blaise narrowed his eyes at the self proclaimed unspeakable, but walked down the stairs to do as Geddes suggested. Before, Blaise had only been able to see a sliver of the living room from his position on the stairs, but he could see the entirety of the room and its gaudy decor from his new location at the foot of the stairs. The rest of the room was just as much an assault to aesthetics as the sliver Blaise had already glimpsed, but that wasn't what drew Blaise's attention. The main draws were the dimensions of the room, the square footage of the floor, the height of the walls, the placement of the various corners. It was all the same as Blaise's own living room. He noted that the windows of the room too matched Blaise's windows.

Blaise supposed that it could have been a neighboring house. Maybe the houses in the area were designed by the same person and he couldn't be bothered to differentiate the houses, but Blaise had a niggling suspicion that that wasn't the case.

"I see," Blaise said. He felt a bit faint, but he wasn't about to let that show to this stranger. "May I ask what year it is?"

Geddes laughed boisterously. Blaise twitched in annoyance, but waited out the man's laughter. "Well, Blaise Zabini, you came to that conclusion quicker than I thought you might. Welcome to 1944. I hope it's not too different from the time you're used to because you'll be here awhile."

"How long is awhile?" Blaise pressed. His mind was numb and he could hardly think straight after the staggering discovery that he was years into the past, but he knew he needed answers.

Geddes' amusement dissipated and a grim expression took over. "The thing is, Blaise Zabini, we have no knowledge of travelling into the future. As far as we know, future travel is impossible. In all likelihood, you're stuck here permanently. Until the natural flow of time takes you back to whatever year you're from. Unless you lived in the much distant future?"

"About 60 years from now," Blaise answered absently as he tried to process his new predicament. He'd had everything going for him. Had he really lost everything due to one questionable decision? Blaise felt he understood the people that ended up needing the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes a little more now. He hated that. He always thought those people the dregs of wizarding society, and now he shared an understanding with them.

"60, you say? Fascinating. Very fascinating. You'll have to tell me more later. For now, we have a lot to do."

"Like what?" Blaise asked still feeling gobsmacked.

"For starters, we need to ask you about everything preceding your trip to the past. After that, we need to set you up with a whole new identity. We can't have an undocumented wizard running around freely, and you'd never be able to have a life without proper identification." Blaise didn't answer. He didn't want a new identity for a life in 1944. He already had a life he quite liked, thank you very much.

"Come along now," Geddes said holding open the front door and gesturing outside. "The quicker we start, the quicker you can adjust to your new life." Without even a glance at the poor stunned and obliviated woman on the floor of her own living room, the two exited the house.


	3. Chapter 3

"So let me get this straight," Geddes said from across the small table he had sat Blaise in upon entering the cramped, mostly bare little room in the halls before the entrance to the Department of Mysteries. "You owned a time turner, and the screw came loose unbeknownst to you?"

Blaise never squirmed, so he kept a relaxed posture as Geddes questioned him with obvious doubt in his words. "Yes. I'm assuming someone tampered with it without my knowledge. Whether that person did so as a welcome or unwanted guest, I am unsure."

"Indeed." Geddes leaned back in his seat and tapped the fingers of his right hand on the table. "And who are you that you came into possession of such a dangerous device, Blaise Zabini?"

"The son of a high ranking official in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Her work piles up and the ministry authorized her use of the time turner to give her time to finish all her work. They put restrictions on it so it only works once a day as a compromise for allowing her to rent out the time turner." Blaise knew of one such case and applied it to his story. It's not like the unspeakable would have access to the records of ministry officials half a century into the future.

"You know, Blaise Zabini, us unspeakables, as you like to call us, have developed many spells and devices that we don't let out to the general public. I might have such a spell that lets me know whether one is being deceitful for or not. Your ability to circumvent the veritaserum doesn't matter," Geddes said staring into Blaise's eyes intimidatingly.

Blaise didn't let his nerves show. Geddes might be bluffing. "Please, cast the spell then. Let it verify that I speak the truth."

Geddes smiled blandly. "But I have already cast the spell. I know that almost everything you just told me is a lie."

Blaise tried not to react. This could still be a bluff. "Impossible. Your spell must not be reliable then. I've spoken nothing but the truth."

"What I want to know is why you're lying," Geddes said ignoring Blaise's attempts at assuring him of the veracity of his tales. "I assume it's because you procured the time turner by illegal means."

Blaise faked outrage at the accusation. "I'm a law abiding member of society. Unless you have proof, I suggest you drop any thoughts of charging me with a crime."

Geddes rolled his eyes. "I'm not interested in charging you with a crime you committed in the distant future especially not if you don't even have the time turner with you. Keep in mind, though, that you will be watched by us for the rest of your life. We do like to keep a log of the details of any rare occurrences, and your presence, Blaise Zabini, is one of the rarest occurrences. It would be inadvisable for you to try to commit any serious crimes without getting caught."

"What?" Blaise's outrage was real this time. "You can't keep a watch on me for the rest of my life. That's an invasion of privacy."

"Yes. It's an unfortunate predicament for you to be in, yet we have to keep tabs on sensitive happenings such as this. I'm sure you understand." Blaise's scathing glare had no effect on Geddes. "Well, whether you do understand or not, there's not much you can do about the situation. With or without your permission, we will carry on as planned."

"And I suppose this violation of human rights is sanctioned by the Ministry of Magic?" Blaise seethed.

"Well, now, I wouldn't call it a violation of human rights, but yes. The Ministry of Magic allows the members of the Department of Mysteries to watch over anything we deem potentially dangerous to the stability of the world. It wouldn't do if we let you run your mouth to everyone about the future."

Blaise forced himself to stay levelheaded. He could already tell that arguing over this would get him nowhere. "And how do you plan on carrying out this invasion of privacy? Can I expect an unspeakable to attach himself to me via sticking charm?"

"Of course not. None of us have the time to spare to babysit 24/7," Geddes said with a smirk. Blaise refused to let the taunt effect him. "We have tracking and surveillance charms to take care of that. I won't go into further details because telling you how these things work would only be an invitation for you to figure out a way to defeat the spells. Suffice it to say that we won't literally watch your every move, but we will know where you are at all times."

Blaise was starting to feel like he was being watched already. He could already feel that itch of paranoia in the center of his back. "If I prove myself trustworthy, will you leave me alone?"

Geddes rubbed his chin. "That is up to people farther up the chain of authority than me. Now, let's move on to other matters. How old are you? 16? 17?"

"19," Blaise answered shortly. He had no patience with this man anymore. He'd rather sleep in a bed and hope for the world to right itself in the morning.

"19," Geddes repeated. "So you already completed your schooling."

"Yes," Blaise confirmed.

Geddes raised his brows. "Interesting. Why would you lie about that?"

Blaise scowled. Clearly, Geddes truth detection spell was no bluff. Whatever spell Geddes used to detect whether Blaise lied or not was an insufferable invention, at least in the hands of someone else. Blaise wouldn't mind learning how to use that spell himself. "The end of my seventh year got cancelled due to unforeseen circumstances. I only had a month left to complete, so it shouldn't be an issue."

"This whole thing will go a lot more smoothly if you answer honestly the first go around, Blaise Zabini," Geddes said. Blaise didn't know why the man insisted on using his full name every time he addressed Blaise, but it was starting to irritate him along with everything else about the man. "Have you taken your NEWTs at least?"

Knowing that lying would be pointless and telling the truth would be admitting to a lack in Blaise's qualifications, he prevaricated. "I'm more than qualified. I led an investigation team for the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes."

"At 19? Very impressive." At least, Geddes knew talent when he saw it. "Still, you should complete your schooling. I don't know what extenuating circumstances could possibly cancel the end of a school year, but it seems like a horrible idea to me. We'll give you an identity as a 17 year old and enroll you into Hogwarts for your seventh year."

"You're kidding me, right?" Blaise asked incredulously. He couldn't possibly be expected to put up with insipid school children for a whole year. He had enough of that the first seven years he intended Hogwarts.

"I'm afraid not." Geddes took out his wand and a piece of paper. "I assume you'll want to keep your first name." Blaise refused to respond. He wasn't going to participate in this madness. Putting his wand down, Geddes sent an exasperated look at Blaise. "You might want to cooperate. You wouldn't want to end up with a name like Phileas Bartamus."

"It's about as good as Llewelyn Geddes," Blaise quipped. He was a bit surprised at himself. He usually wasn't so snarky around strangers.

"Cute. Phileas Bartamus it is." Geddes raised his wand pointing it at the paper.

"I'm not parading around with an asinine name," Blaise warned. Ignoring him, Geddes completed his spell, turning the paper into a form of ID. He handed the card over to Blaise who folded his arms staring down in disdain at the item in Geddes hand. He relaxed as he read the name, Blaise Marsden. "I don't know any wizarding families with the surname Marsden."

"You wouldn't. Blaise Marsden has a muggleborn father."

Blaise scoffed. "You want me to pose as a half blood."

"Yes. There are purebloods obsessed with genealogy who like to keep tabs on other purebloods, so it's harder to create a new identity of an unknown 17 year old pureblood. Not impossible, but enough of a hassle that it's not happening." This was yet another statement Blaise felt better not replying to. "Don't pout about it. You're still actually a pureblood if that makes you feel better."

"Not particularly." Blaise didn't elaborate. He didn't need to tell Geddes how many perks came just from holding the status of pureblood. It should be obvious to anyone with the slightest bit of observational skills.

"Ok. We can hash out the rest of the details of your identity later. I want to get back to how you came into possession of a time turner." Blaise gritted his teeth. He wished he had gone back in time to when he took the time turner instead, so that he could kill himself before he got into this mess.


	4. Chapter 4

The process of inventing a new identity took way too much time and effort for Blaise. He had to argue with Geddes on almost every point, and the man refused to listen to him almost as often. In the end, he became Blaise Marsden, a half blood who home schooled for his first six years, but had to enroll at Hogwarts for his seventh year due to his mother's death. Thankfully for Blaise's sanity, Geddes didn't require him to help with forming all the paperwork validating the existence of Blaise Marsden. If anyone felt the need to check birth records, death certificates, or past exam grades, they would find seemingly official records for Blaise Marsden and his equally fake family.

During the process, Geddes held Blaise captive in his house claiming he couldn't associate with the outside world until Geddes finished putting his identity together. Blaise looked forward to leaving the house and living on his own, but Geddes put a damper in that dream when he informed Blaise that he had to continue cohabitating with Geddes until he went to school. To say that Blaise was irritated when he found out would be an understatement. He made his arguments almost robotically, knowing by that point that Geddes had already made up his mind.

The good news was that Geddes was extremely busy as an unspeakable, and Blaise hardly ever had to encounter him. Another plus was that Geddes stopped addressing him by his full name since he acquired his new identity. Blaise didn't know why getting called Blaise Zabini every time annoyed him so much, but he didn't care to dwell on the matter. As long as it was over, that was all Blaise needed to know.

On Blaise's first day of 1944 Hogwarts, Geddes told him to go to the headmaster's office long before the rest of the school arrived. As Blaise sat in the chair in front of the past headmaster's desk, he surveyed the room. The furnishing wasn't near as eccentric as when Dumbledore was headmaster. Rather, it quite aligned with Blaise's preferences. At least Professor Dippet had good taste even if he was a blithering idiot as Blaise found out within his first couple of minutes in the headmaster's presence.

"Oh, but I'm sure you want to find out what house you're in," the headmaster finally said after wasting Blaise's time with babbling. "Let me go get the hat." Blaise watched silently as the grizzly old man fetched the hat and returned. He held out the hat to Blaise. "You're a quiet boy, aren't you?"

In lieu of answering, Blaise snatched the hat and jammed it onto his head wondering how the hat would take ending up on the head of a time traveler past his school years. "I've seen the like," the hat said in response to Blaise's thoughts. "I sorted a similar student around 600 years ago though he was actually the appropriate age to be in school."

Blaise would have pointed out that posing as a school child was not his choice, but he would not deign to explain himself to a ratty hat. "You explain yourself to me just by thinking," the hat told him with amusement.

 _Just sort me already,_ Blaise thought in annoyance. The sorting hadn't taken nearly as long the first time around.

"Well, last time around you were a bratty eleven year old without an interesting enough mind to delve into. Now, you're at least a bratty nineteen year old with a more than one-dimensional ambition."

Bratty? If there were one word that Blaise had never heard applied to himself, it was bratty. Bratty had to be one of the most undignified adjectives in existence, and he had never felt more offended, he was sure.

"It's your own fault. As a hat, I don't have a personality of my own. I only form a personality from the people whose heads I rest upon. My complete condescension is brought upon by your own."

That was actually a rather fascinating revelation. Blaise wished he could have access to the hat later on to run some tests and figure out how it works. Blaise wondered why the hat was given the ability to form a personality at all or why it even needed to speak to those it sorted? Surely, it could function just as well in silence.

"You would prefer that, I suppose," the hat said in response to Blaise's musings. "but my talking helps to evoke your most relevant traits. For example, you just brushed upon why I'm hesitant to sort you back into Slytherin. You still have that burning ambition, the cunning mind, and the preservation of self beyond all else, but you also have that deep yearning for knowledge. What is your ambition, but to seek knowledge? You want to know the unknown, a markedly Ravenclaw trait."

Blaise frowned contemplatively. Logically, he could benefit from joining Ravenclaw rather than Slytherin. People made judgments based on houses and he could easily get used to people not immediately turning suspicious of his motivations. Yes, he could build up a more innocent reputation in Ravenclaw.

"Then it's confirmed," the hat announced. "You couldn't possibly belong anywhere but SLYTHERIN!"

"A fine house indeed," Dippet congratulated as he took back the sorting hat and returned it to its original location. Blaise resisted the urge to glare at the now inanimate object. "One of my best students is a Slytherin, in fact, he is the current head boy. During the sorting feast, look for Tom Riddle. He is always willing to help out first years, and I'm sure he'll be the same with newly enrolled seventh years."

Blaise blanched. Why hadn't he considered the possibility? He hadn't known the exact years Voldemort had attended Hogwarts but he knew the basic time period. First carelessly taking a time turner and now this. Blaise would have to get his head checked for brain damage to explain his recent bumblings. "Tom Riddle?" he repeated.

"Yes." The headmaster nodded completely oblivious to Blaise's inner turmoil.

"I need to contact my uncle. Immediately," Blaise said. There was no way he was going to attend Hogwarts with a young Voldemort. Geddes would listen to him this time.

"A bit of first day nerves?" Dippet asked kindly. Blaise felt offended that Dippet would think him so weak, but he nodded regardless. In this situation and only this situation, he could stand to let his pride take a hit. "Don't worry, Blaise. I know you're used to an environment where you're the only student and the teacher is someone you know, but you'll come to find that friends are plentiful and the teachers are available for any help you might require."

Blaise nodded stiffly as he inwardly scoffed at the idea of making friends or requiring help. He would send a letter via owl as soon as possible. He was sure he could survive sharing a dorm with Voldemort for one night. After all, it wasn't like he went around killing other students during his tenure at Hogwarts. He never could have lasted as long if that was the case.

Dippet accompanied Blaise to the Great Hall much to Blaise's displeasure. He didn't care for the nattering of the old man. Blaise was glad to part ways and head to the empty Slytherin table as they waited for the rest of the students to arrive. The students started to pour in, and Blaise tried to radiate an overt standoffish demeanor so that nobody would try to interact with him. It worked for approximately ten seconds.

As Blaise stared determinedly at the wall straight ahead of him, a thin attractive girl sat directly in front of him. "I haven't seen you before," the girl stated bluntly. Blaise resigned himself to a forced conversation with the girl. It wouldn't do to brush her off and make an enemy of someone that could have connections.

"I've just started at Hogwarts. My mother taught me before."

The girl smirked. "How sweet." Blaise bristled. He didn't need some insignificant girl mocking him about his made up backstory.

"My name is Blaise Marsden," Blaise continued politely.

"Charmed," the girl said. "I'm Lucretia Black."

"A wonderful and well established wizarding family," Blaise said with a slight nod of acknowledgment.

"So I've heard," Lucretia said drily. "Tell me, Blaise Marsden, how pure is your blood?"

"I'm a pureblood, obviously," Blaise said. If Lucretia cared to check, she would find out his supposed parents consisted of a mudblood and a halfblood, but it was unlikely that Lucretia had any investment in finding out Blaise's heritage.

"Obviously," Lucretia repeated mockingly. "It's strange how every single person that ends up in Slytherin is a pureblood, don't you think? You'd think at least one halfblood or mudblood would fit the bill."

Blaise lifted up the corners of his mouth in a slight smile. It was well known that those Slytherins of lesser blood lied about their heritage though it was not usually known which Slytherins lied. "I can't say I know much about the matter. I come from a long line of Ravenclaws."

"Were your parents disappointed at your deviation?"

"They're dead," Blaise said without any cushioning. He didn't feel like pretending to be devastated over the death of parents he never had.

"Then I suppose it's rather hard to disappoint them," Lucretia said. Blaise chuckled lightly. If they were talking about his real mother he might have taken offense to Lucretia's insensitivity, but it didn't bother him for her to talk flippantly about his fake parents. Lucretia gave up on conversation once the festivities started for which Blaise was grateful. The girl certainly provided better company than the people he'd spent time around since his trip to the past, but he didn't have any interest in befriending her either. Besides, he had other matters to occupy his mind.

Blaise realized he would have to associate himself with Lucretia again once the ceremony ended. He wasn't supposed to know his way around the castle, and he desperately needed to get ahold of an owl. He couldn't risk someone observing him acting as if he was familiar with the layout. "Can you show me to the owlery?" Blaise whispered to Lucretia as he flanked her on the way out of the Great Hall.

"Certainly," Lucretia whispered back in jest. Louder, she said, "What do you need to go to the owlery for on the first day of school?"

Blaise brushed her off. "It's a personal matter."

"Fair enough."

The rest of the way, Blaise appropriately matched Lucretia's chatter wishing all the while that she would hurry up. Blaise successfully sent off a letter telling Geddes he urgently needed to speak with him but leaving out the details. He couldn't risk giving too much away in case the letter got intercepted. After sending the letter, Blaise had Lucretia lead him back to the dorm that he already knew the location of.

The next day at breakfast, Blaise received a terse reply from Geddes reading, "Next Hogsmeade trip." Crumpling the letter in his fist, Blaise stood up. He thought he'd made it clear how urgent the matter was. He had another letter to send.


	5. Chapter 5

Blaise's first interaction with the next dark lord came after he retired to his dorm room the second night. After classes and dinner, Blaise headed up to his room trying to avoid any attempts at socializing with him. Before he could finish getting ready, a well groomed and posh seeming boy entered the room. From his classes, Blaise already knew who the boy was. Voldemort received a lot of praise from most of the professors for mastering the material easily.

"I don't believe we've been properly acquainted," Voldemort greeted with a friendly smile on his face. If the name Tom Riddle hadn't already been beaten into Blaise's head by every news outlet after the war, he never would have connected this attractive looking 17 year old with the distorted, inhuman face of the Voldemort Blaise was familiar with.

"Blaise Marsden," Blaise said not moving from his position at the entryway to the bathroom. He knew that his exact proximity to Voldemort didn't matter at this short of range, but he felt better keeping his distance. In this case, he had no problem acknowledging his fear without taking a hit to his pride. Only a fool wouldn't be afraid when confronted with an almost immortal and indiscriminate murderer.

"Tom Riddle," Voldemort returned. He stepped over to Blaise and held out his hand. As Blaise hesitantly took the proffered hand, he was idiotically startled that the hand felt as warm and human as any other hand. Maybe his fear _was_ too irrational. He needed to get ahold of himself.

The handshake ended shortly and Voldemort stepped back still wearing his friendly smile. "What brings you to start Hogwarts in your last year?"

"My mother died," Blaise said shortly. For any Slytherin, that answer should be sufficient.

Voldemort allowed his smile to disappear from his face. "My condolences."

"Thank you," Blaise said keeping his face straight. He decided the conversation needed to end there. "Good night, Riddle."

"Good night, Marsden," Voldemort allowed with a slight nod. Before Blaise could enter his enclosure, Voldemort spoke up again. "Hufflepuff is known as the house of loyalty, but Slytherin is also a house of loyalty, sometimes even more so than Hufflepuff. Most people don't think so considering we tend to turn on anyone that no longer enriches our lives in some way, but the reality is, we only give our true loyalty to those that deserve it. When we do find someone that deserves our loyalty, that loyalty is undying unless the loyalty is abused. I hope I will find that we deserve each other's loyalty, Blaise Marsden."

Blaise unwillingly recalled the time when Geddes would call him by his full name as he tried to figure out the appropriate response to Voldemort's short warning speech. He was used to warnings a lot more subtle, but he supposed Voldemort already had enough clout in Hogwarts to get away with slightly less subtlety than normal. Merlin knew the Voldemort of Blaise's time hardly even knew the meaning of subtlety. Arrogance. Voldemort gained so much power that he believed himself infallible and no longer felt the need for subtle manipulations. A common mistake of the mighty, according to Berenice.

Blaise had to be more careful with his answer than Voldemort had been with his unspoken question. He did not hold the power to afford mistakes. "I understand the importance of loyalty," Blaise said vaguely.

"Glad to hear it. See you tomorrow, Marsden." Blaise waited until he heard Voldemort's footsteps pad down the stairs before getting into his bed. He'd never admit to anyone else how little sleep he got that night.

The next morning, Blaise received an even smaller note from Geddes at breakfast. The note held just one word underlined three times, Hogsmeade. Furious, Blaise stuffed the note in his pocket and continued eating, inwardly fuming. If Geddes wasn't going to take him seriously, he was going to make him take him seriously.

Blaise didn't return to his common room that night. He hid out in the library until it closed, slipped out to the grounds, and exited through a secret passage from a hidden alcove on the first floor to the underside of Zonko's. At least, it was Zonko's in Blaise's time. As he entered the upper floor of the building, he gazed in amazement at the rows of bookshelves. He needed to stop getting surprised by differences from his time and 1944.

Not wasting anymore time, Blaise exited to the streets so he could apparate outside of Geddes' house. He marched over to the window of Geddes' bedroom and slammed on it repeatedly. In little time, the window opened and a disheveled Geddes glared sleepily out at Blaise. "What part of Hogsmeade did you not understand?"

"I went to Hogsmeade. You weren't there, so I came here," Blaise said drily. Geddes slammed his window shut, and Blaise smirked. It was nice to be the antagonizer in their relationship for a change.

"Get in here then," Geddes called out from the front door a minute later. Blaise headed over and brushed past Geddes still wearing his self satisfied smirk. "What is so important that you couldn't act like a regular student until the first Hogsmeade trip?"

Blaise sobered up as he got back to the reason he was at Geddes' house. "I have to leave Hogwarts. You've put me in with a future dark lord."

Geddes' face was impassive as he studied over Blaise. "So ingratiate yourself with him. You're opportunistic, aren't you? I'm sure a dark lord is well connected."

"Are you trying to play a joke on me? I'll end up dead before I receive anything of value."

"Ah, when self preservation beats out a Slytherin's ambitions."

"I'm glad this is amusing to you." Their roles reversed back to normal much too quickly for Blaise's comfort. "Try not to laugh during the eulogy at my funeral. People tend to look down on that sort of thing."

"Why do you think the future dark lord is going to kill you? Do you plan on getting in his way?"

"Of course not," Blaise said affronted. Did Geddes take him for a fool Gryffindor? "I'm not saying it's likely he'll kill me just that it's more likely I'll end up dead if I live with a deranged boy that doesn't hesitate to harm his own followers let alone those that oppose him."

Geddes sat down on his couch. "I hardly think the boy would have gone through school without any suspicion if he was as quick to harm as you say."

"He could if he has his whole house on his side and if he's pulled the wool over the eyes of the administration. I don't know what Voldemort's up to during his school years, and I don't care to find out."

Geddes sat in thought for a while. Blaise took the opportunity to settle into a seat of his own. Hopefully, Geddes decided he cared enough about Blaise's life to not throw him back into a deadly situation. "What do you plan to do if you don't go back to school? I assume you'll want to get back to your original job at the DMAC. I can set you up for NEWT testing by early February."

"That would be appreciated," Blaise said relaxing a little. He was glad Geddes was listening to him for once.

"What are your ambitions? I doubt your goals end with leading an investigation team in the DMAC. Someone as driven as you, you have your sights set on something more."

Blaise held himself back from flinching at Geddes stern gaze. He felt a bit silly telling a current unspeakable that he desired the same job as him especially since he didn't think Geddes liked him much. Blaise couldn't expect any recommendations from him. "That's a personal matter."

"Is it? Let's outline what you told me about yourself. You took Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Transfiguration at NEWT level. You started working your way up through the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad straight out of school. You don't have close ties with anyone outside of your mother. Most importantly, the only time you've ever initiated a conversation with me was to ask me about my work. I'm guessing your aspirations lie somewhere in the Department of Mysteries." Blaise stared back at Geddes too stunned to comment. He liked to think of himself as much harder to read than that. "Well, Blaise Zabini, was I mistaken?"

Blaise grimaced. They were back to the aggravating full name usage. "It is somewhat accurate," Blaise admitted reluctantly.

"I think you have a decent chance," Geddes said flippantly. Blaise raised a brow. This couldn't be as good as it sounded. "You're getting firsthand experience in the unknown which is a plus for you. If your NEWT grades prove as good as you assure me they'll be, then you can move up through the DMAC as quickly as you did in your time, quicker even, and then work your way through Obliviator Headquarters afterwards. I'd say in eight years time, you could start your internship at the Department of Mysteries."

"That certainly sounds ideal," Blaise said cautiously. There was definitely a catch coming.

"Doesn't it? How does cutting in half the time until your internship starts sound?"

Blaise narrowed his eyes at Geddes. What was he up to? "It sounds too good to be true."

Geddes barked a laugh. "Pay attention to your instincts, Blaise Zabini. They seem good. We don't give internships to just anyone that gets good grades and goes through the proper channels. You need capability for discretion, for deception, for approaching a dangerous situation cautiously but effectively, and a willingness to put yourself in such a dangerous situation to gain knowledge. I find it amusing that you want to enter one of the most lethal professions while running at the first sign of danger."

Blaise shifted uncomfortably. "I don't shy away from danger when there's something to be gained from it," Blaise said mostly untruthfully. "But in this case, I'm putting myself into the proximity of a deranged killer without reason."

"The reason is to give you a normal identity with a paper trail that makes sense." Blaise gripped the chair of his arm tightly. If he continued backing out now, Geddes would determine him to be a coward. When Blaise failed to respond in a timely matter, Geddes stood up and strode towards the door. "Come along. I have something to show you."

Blaise shot up from his seat and followed after Geddes. "Where are we going?"

"The Department of Mysteries."


	6. Chapter 6

Blaise almost tripped when Geddes led him away from the rooms directly in front of the elevator and to a narrow corridor, bare except for one dark door at the end. When Geddes said they were going to the Department of Mysteries, he assumed Geddes meant the entrance area where visitors were allowed. He couldn't believe he was going to enter the section with extreme limited access.

As Blaise stepped through the door behind Geddes, he barely had time to register the blue tinged circular room with door covered walls before the walls started spinning rapidly in front of him. Blaise had no chance of keeping track of which door was which. The walls slowed to a halt, and Geddes made his way to the door just to the right of the door directly in front of them. Blaise followed behind eagerly. Blaise wasn't quick to excite, but the hidden secrets of the world always inflated Blaise's emotions.

Others might have been disappointed to find that their first exploit into the Department of Mysteries led to a simple library, but not Blaise. Probably because he knew this library was anything but simple. What information did these books hold that the unspeakables found it necessary to place them in their own secret library? As Blaise followed Geddes through the rows of shelves, he noticed that the books changed to folders and binders, some labelled, some not labelled. Geddes stopped abruptly, reached out to a shelf, and pulled out two stuffed, labelled binders. The labels gave two names, Leonard Sheffield and Mira Black.

Geddes pointed the labels at Blaise. "Considering your aspirations, I assume you've heard of Mira Black."

Blaise hardly felt such an obvious fact needed confirmation, but he nodded anyways. "She helped to establish the Department of Mysteries." Blaise knew considerable more about the woman, but he didn't need to ramble on about her and make a fool of himself.

"She's the first recorded time traveler," Geddes added. Blaise hadn't known that. "Before time turners even existed, she got into an accident which sent her back 87 years into the past. Mira spent much of her life trying to replicate the incident. Due to her research, one of the Department of Mysteries' first goals was to find the secrets to time travel."

Blaise knew that last part. Mira was credited as the inventor of time turners. "I presume that Leonard Sheffield also went through a time related accident that sent him through years of time."

"Very good, Blaise Zabini," Geddes said condescendingly. "Although his wasn't so much of an accident. Sheffield purposely removed the safeguard that prevented time travel past five hours, but we're not here to talk about Sheffield and his questionable decisions." Geddes returned Sheffield's binder to its position on the shelf. "We're here to talk about Mira's contributions to our studies on time."

Geddes led Blaise over to a small table in the back of the library and plopped the binder on top of the table before sitting down. After Blaise sat across from him, Geddes flipped through the binder and pulled out a piece of paper sliding it over to Blaise. "You might find this page interesting."

Blaise read through the page quickly but carefully. "She accidentally prevented her own birth. Doesn't that cause a paradox?"

"Maybe, maybe not," Geddes answered lightly. "Despite all our efforts, we still know very little about time. Seemingly, a time traveler can make significant changes to the future without disrupting the fabric of the world. If not, we'd have locked you up to make sure you didn't change anything."

"Are you trying to tell me you want me to change the future? If you're referring to Voldemort, I'm not some fool Gryffindor. I don't go around making enemies with powerful wizards out of a misguided sense of righteousness."

"Voldemort? Is that the name of the future dark lord you spoke of?" Geddes snorted when Blaise nodded. "That's an unfortunate name."

"I wouldn't feel sorry for him. He brought the name upon himself."

"I see. Dark lords do tend to have a flair for the dramatic. Anyways, I am not asking you to do anything about the future dark lord. That is not the point I was trying to make at all." Geddes took the paper and slipped it back inside the binder. "All I wanted to point out was how risky every action Mira took was. She didn't know what effects her actions would have. She didn't know stopping her birth wouldn't erase her whole life. Mira didn't really have a choice on whether she was stuck in the past or not, though, but she did make the choice to use her accident to her advantage and delve into the secrets of time. If she made the wrong move, she could have hurt herself or ended up farther in the past. The terrible possibilities are endless, but she persisted and she achieved her goal. That's the kind of woman that helped to found the Department of Mysteries, and that's the kind of person we accept into our ranks."

"Ok. I get it," Blaise said. "And if staying at Hogwarts opened me up to discovery, I would do so but-"

"But instead you're choosing to cower away even though your future dark lord has nothing against you given that he doesn't know you." Geddes shut Mira Black's binder with a snap. "Ok. As you wish. I'll call the headmaster tomorrow and tell him you had to leave school due to social anxiety induced by a sheltered childhood."

Geddes stood up from his seat, grabbing Mira's binder and walking it back to the shelf. Blaise stared straight ahead of him at the space Geddes had just occupied not seeing anything as an unfamiliar feeling washed over him. He had a determination to carry on in spite of the risks, to forget about self preservation for once and willingly face the threat head on. That feeling must be what drove people like Harry Potter but without the additional compassion.

Jumping up from his seat, Blaise rushed towards Geddes. "No," he said firmly. "I'll stay in school."

Geddes grinned at him. "Are you sure? Do you want to bring a teddy bear with you for comfort?"

If Blaise were one who cursed, he'd tell Geddes to go fuck himself, but as a man of class with proper upbringing, Blaise refrained from such filth. "Childish taunts are a sign of those lacking intellect."

Geddes chuckled. "Those who comment the most about others' intellects only show that they think they are much more clever than they actually are."

"By making that comment, you too are commenting about others' intellects," Blaise pointed out.

"So I am," Geddes admitted easily. "Well, Blaise Zabini, would you like a short tour of the Department of Mysteries to celebrate you overcoming your cowardice?"

Blaise ignored the slight in light of the rare offer he just received. "Are you serious?"

"Absolutely, but keep in mind, when I say a short tour, I mean _short_. Just a little trip through the Hall of Prophecy, and don't touch anything. You'll be driven to madness if you do," Geddes warned. Blaise nodded eagerly.

The two went back into the circular room with all the doors and waited out the spinning. This time, Geddes led Blaise through the door directly behind them. Gliding through a room filled with various clocks and time turners, they exited through the next door walking into a cold room filled with soaring shelves of cloudy orbs. Blaise swung his head left and right taking in the awe-inspiring sight as they walked between the shelves.

"The majority of these prophecies have not yet come to pass," Geddes started with the air of someone beginning a lecture. "The wording of most prophecies is vague enough that we don't know whether the prophecies are false or haven't come to pass yet. Rows 1-60 carry prophecies of which we don't know who the prophecies refer to. Rows 61-98 carry prophecies in which we identified the subjects. Rows 99-110 are prophecies that can never come true, and rows 111-116 are prophecies that have definitively come true already."

"A small percentage," Blaise commented still gazing upwards at the countless orbs.

"Yes, the vague nature of prophecy makes it hard to determine whether it came to pass or not. The funny thing is, the prophecies in rows 111-116 contain a lot of the more insignificant predictions. Most people expect prophecies to tell of grand world changing events, but much of the predictions are small scale. I've heard a prophecy as trivial as an upcoming promotion for an auror."

"What's the point of a prophecy like that?" Blaise asked.

"What's the point of anything?" Geddes retorted. Geddes continued the tour of the Hall, occasionally pointing out a prophecy he knew the contents of. Blaise was sure he came across as over excited and much too green, but he couldn't help his fascination.

"Alright, that concludes your unauthorized tour," Geddes eventually said. "It's time for you to go back to Hogwarts."

"What purpose did you have for showing me the Hall of Prophecy?" Blaise asked believing that people always had an ulterior motive.

"Because I knew you would appreciate it. It's as simple as that, Blaise Zabini."


	7. Chapter 7

Blaise apparated from Geddes' house back to Hogsmeade next to the bookstore that was to become Zonko's by Blaise's time. Years of experience allowed him to make it back to his dorm undetected. He sighed with relief when he got into his room and the curtains of the other boys' beds were drawn. He wanted to slide into bed and fall asleep immediately, not explain himself to one of his dorm mates.

The next morning, Blaise woke up with regret. He'd made the decision to go back to Hogwarts in the spur of the moment, and it didn't seem as good as an idea as when he had made the decision. As he left his bed to be greeted by the cause for his wariness, Blaise's regret doubled.

"Late night last night?" Voldemort greeted with an amused grin, impersonating an understanding schoolmate flawlessly. Blaise saw that face on many of his old schoolmates when one of the other boys stayed out past curfew. It was the face of an accomplice to schoolboy mischief of breaking minor rules and getting away with it. It was the kind of mischief Blaise figured was too light for a young Voldemort.

"Sort of." Blaise shrugged. "I got lost and couldn't find my way back, so I wandered around for awhile until I got directions from a portrait."

"Boring," called another voice from across the room. A boy with short, brown hair peeked his head out from the curtains around his bed. "You're surprisingly elusive, Marsden. Two days here and I haven't seen you outside of meals and classes. Where did you disappear to yesterday?"

"I was in the library studying." Blaise decided he already didn't like this boy. Intrusive questions were considered rude among the people Blaise kept company with.

The boy made a noise of disgust. "Even more boring. Are you sure you're not supposed to be a Ravenclaw?"

"You think anyone that spends more than two seconds looking at a book is a Ravenclaw, Lestrange," Voldemort snapped. Lestrange's amusement disappeared from his face at Voldemort's tone. "You could stand to spend a little more time reading books considering the dismal state your grades are in."

"Right. Of course," Lestrange agreed easily before disappearing back into his bed enclosure. Blaise felt uneasy as he observed the scene. Clearly, Voldemort already had at least one devoted follower at the young age of 17.

Voldemort turned towards Blaise and gave him a smile that defied his demeanor from just moments before. "You should start getting dressed, Marsden. You wouldn't want to be late for your second day of classes." He nodded once and then exited the dorm. Shaking off the unnerving wake up, Blaise headed to the bathroom to take a shower.

Over the days, Blaise noted a lot about Voldemort, or Tom Riddle as he should be thinking of him lest he slip up and call him Voldemort by accident. The majority of the time, Riddle played his part as the charming headboy perfectly. He offered help when students struggled in class, he stopped fights and bullying in the hallways, and he mastered everything thrown at him in class without letting a smidge of smugness show through. Due to Riddle's good looks, skill, and kindness to everyone, he was well liked by members of all houses.

Riddle's mask only ever slipped when he was in the dorm room surrounded only by the other boys in his year. Blaise still felt like Riddle kept a mask up in Blaise's presence just one that wasn't as overdone as the Riddle that roamed the halls of Hogwarts. In the dorm room, Riddle didn't hesitate to harshly criticize someone for an act he found idiotic. When in the classroom, he patiently helped those near him and encouraged them all the while. He'd never speak a harsh word against anyone outside of the dorm.

The other boys; Corvus Lestrange, Nathan Avery, and Arche Rosier followed Riddle's lead in every situation. Anything Riddle said was as good as an order to them. Anytime Blaise caught one of the three leaping to obey Riddle, Riddle smirked challengingly at Blaise. Blaise didn't know what the challenge was, but he had no inclination to take on that challenge. Luckily for Blaise, Riddle left him to his own devices for the majority of the time. Blaise didn't know if it would continue being that way, but he was glad that it was for the moment.

Blaise's second time around at Hogwarts ended up reminiscent of his first time in school. He kept to himself only interacting with his fellow students when etiquette required, and he spent long hours in the library researching when his presence wasn't required in a classroom. An uneventful month passed, and Blaise actually started feeling a little silly for worrying about Riddle. Maybe he didn't have to get involved in any way.

Blaise's dreams of avoiding association with any of the other students crumbled in the first few days of October. He peacefully sat in the library reading a book on the theories of the relation of magic ability to potion making when Lucretia Black strutted up to his table a book in hand. Blaise didn't deign to look up at her though he noticed her presence. He didn't appreciate being disturbed while he read.

"Mind if I sit here?" Black asked when Blaise failed to acknowledge her.

Blaise gritted his teeth. He didn't want to be too rude and piss her off, but he wanted to make sure she knew her presence was not welcome. "I'm studying. I can't afford any distractions."

Black completely ignored Blaise's dismissal and sat down at the table. "That's fine. I'll just be reading quietly. Shouldn't be a distraction at all."

Not having another reason to tell Black to go away, Blaise resigned himself to sharing his table. He successfully forgot about Black's existence as he engrossed himself into his reading.

For the next week, Black joined him at his table every day to read her own book as he read. Blaise decided it wasn't too bad. Other than the daily greeting as she sat at the table, Black stayed quiet. It was almost like Blaise was by himself even when Black was there which he much appreciated. All the same, he did start to wonder why the girl insisted on sharing his table every day even though they never talked.

"Why do you always sit here?" Blaise finally asked once the urge to solve the mystery built up too much for him to hold back.

Black looked up from her book furrowing her brows at Blaise. "It's comfortable."

"Surely, it's just as comfortable as any of the other tables in here. I don't believe there's much differentiation from table to table," Blaise said drily.

"I meant it's comfortable to sit with you," Black said bluntly. "At least as opposed to anyone else in the school. You haven't been here long, but you've managed to avoid irritating me so far."

Satisfied enough with that answer, Blaise went back to his reading. Most other people just didn't understand the value of silence.

Blaise shared Black's sentiment about the irritating qualities of his other school mates. His dorm mates tried to start many conversations with him, conversations he deftly avoided by using his dorm only when necessary. Even so, he had to hear the insipid conversations Avery and Lestrange had prior to going to bed.

"Did you hear they're letting a squib work at the bookstore in Hogsmeade now?" Lestrange asked Avery one night after Blaise entered his dorm.

Avery jumped up from his bed and started pacing. "See? This is exactly what I'm talking about. People don't have a proper sense of decorum anymore. In the past, the family disowned the squib and left them to the world of muggles as makes sense. A squib is essentially a muggle and muggles don't belong in the magical world. I can't believe we let it get to the point where we have muggles running our shops. How can someone who can't perform any magic know anything about magical books?"

Ignoring the argument and the boys in the room, Blaise strode over to his bed. Obviously, one didn't have to use magic to collect money in exchange for books. "What do you think, Marsden?" Riddle interjected before Lestrange could respond.

Turning to Riddle with trepidation, Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

Sitting casually on his bed, Riddle smirked slyly at Blaise. "About the muggle situation. Do you think muggles ever have a place in the magical world?"

In truth, Blaise didn't particularly care either way. Parents of mudbloods often got involved in the magical world and it didn't make any difference as far as he could tell. "Of course not. They have their own world. Let them stick to that."

"And mudbloods?" Riddle inquired.

Again, Blaise didn't care. Whether mudbloods ended up at Hogwarts or never learned of its existence had no effect on Blaise's life. "They always bring their parents with them," Blaise prevaricated.

"Someone should do something about the infiltration of mudbloods and muggles in our world. Don't you agree, Marsden?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Blaise looked to the side at Avery and Lestrange. They were intently watching the exchange between Riddle and Blaise. Blaise didn't like the direction this conversation was headed in. He knew who Riddle had in mind for being that someone that did something about the increasing numbers of muggles. He had 19 years of tales about Voldemort to warn him of the younger version standing in front of him. Still, he had no hope but to answer in the positive.

"Certainly."

Riddle's smile widened. "I'm glad you agree. I think considering the direction things are headed in, we can expect someone worthy to step up to the task soon."

"We can only hope." Blaise was itching to spin around and go to bed. He could sense the danger creeping up on him, danger he evaded at every opportunity.

"I think we can do more than hope." Riddle stood up. "Good night, Marsden." Riddle pulled the curtains around his bed shut leaving Blaise a bit dazed by the sudden dismissal. It felt like the discussion was cut off before Riddle ever got to the point.

Blaise nodded good night to Lestrange and Avery and finally escaped to his bed.


	8. Chapter 8

"Are you going to Hogsmeade this weekend?" Rosier asked a couple of weeks after Blaise's unnerving conversation with Riddle.

Blaise spared him a glance as he tied his shoelaces. "Yes."

"'Yes'," Rosier mimicked in an annoying voice. Blaise hated him more than the others in his dorm, even Riddle. Riddle might kill him one day, but at least he wasn't obnoxious. "Are you afraid you'll run out of words later in life if you use too many now?"

"Brevity is the soul of wit." Blaise stood up and headed toward the dorm exit.

"Wait up, Marsden," Avery called out. Reluctantly, Blaise halted and turned around. "Arche has the social skills of a rock. He's trying to find out if you're going with Lucretia Black since you two have been so cozy in the library together."

Blaise studied himself in the mirror by the exit to the dorm, adjusting his tie. This conversation was turning out exactly as ridiculous as he had expected it to. "We hardly even talk to each other."

"Oh?" Rosier snickered. "What do you do instead?"

Blaise whipped a withering glare in Rosier's direction. "Read. I assume this conversation is over."

"Not yet," Avery cut in before Blaise could move closer to the door. "We figured we should probably warn you about Lucretia Black. She's a bit off."

Blaise wondered if he should even bother asking, but he figured they'd end up telling him anyways, so he stayed silent, raising a brow in question. "She's a bloody mudblood sympathizer," Lestrange said with a scowl. "You wouldn't think it because she acts respectable most of the time, but she's spoken out against muggle restriction laws before."

This was why Blaise had never liked any of his housemates before. Even sharing a table in the library with the wrong person was liable to set off one of their sensibilities. "I'm not friends with Black," Blaise assured them curtly. He gestured to the exit. "Now, if you're done-"

"Go ahead," Rosier dismissed. As Blaise left he heard him continue, "You'd think he was allergic to something in this dorm the way he avoids it."

"Or he just can't stand you," Avery suggested. Well, Avery was one-fourth right.

As it turned out, the discussion about Blaise's Hogsmeade plans was not over. The next time Blaise encountered his housemates in the dorm, they brought up their plans for the upcoming weekend. "Why don't you join us, Marsden? Surely, you don't want to spend the rest of the year without friends," Riddle said with a mocking smirk.

Blaise had planned to sneak off and apparate to Geddes' house, but Riddle's invitation put a damper on his plans. He couldn't outright refuse, and he didn't have a decent excuse. "I suppose so, but I wasn't planning on staying for long. Just enough to get some more supplies."

"Was that two whole sentences in a row?" Rosier whispered loudly to Avery. Blaise pretended not to hear that as did Riddle.

"You can get supplies afterward," Riddle said. _After what?_ Blaise wondered.

On the day of the Hogsmeade trip, Riddle gathered the four other seventh year boys and a sixth year boy Blaise had never spoken to. The last boy's name was Nicholas Nott. Nott preened as the group walked through the streets, clearly pleased to be included with the upper class Slytherins. Rosier, Lestrange, and Avery engaged the younger boy in conversation about each other's families while Riddle strode on in the lead. Blaise lingered in the back hoping that he could make an exit soon.

"Where are we going?" Blaise felt the urge to ask as Riddle started to lead them away from the more commercial part of the village. The further they got from the rest of the Hogwarts attendees and staff, the more an impending sense of dread fell over Blaise about being around Riddle and his cronies.

"Somewhere we won't be bothered," Riddle answered without slowing. That didn't bode well for Blaise's nerves.

As if he was trying to frighten Blaise, Riddle led the group through a shady alleyway where no one could see them unless they happened to look into the alley as they passed by. Not wanting to let off on how unsettled he really was, Blaise held back from making an excuse to leave. Nott watched on with anticipation as Riddle knelt down to trace a pattern on the ground with his wand. After he stood up, a small trapdoor appeared on the ground. "Anyone care to venture to Diagon Alley?"

Avery, Lestrange, and Rosier smirked at the astounded expression on Nott's face and the carefully impassive one that Blaise wore. "Tom found this passage last year. It's great for when we want to get out of the watchful eye of the administration," Lestrange said with a smile of anticipation.

"Quiet. Take off those ridiculous badges and ties. We don't want to look like school kids," Riddle ordered. His followers hastened to do as told. Blaise, too, took off his school paraphernalia, wondering what kind of activities a young Voldemort got up to when sneaking out to Diagon any. If Riddle was any normal schoolboy, Blaise would guess that they were headed to a bar to get drunk, but that didn't seem like an activity Riddle partook in.

"Where are we going?" Nott asked excitedly.

"Hush," Avery admonished quickly, nodding towards Riddle who strode on without looking back or acknowledging Nott's question. The conversation lapsed for the rest of the trip as Riddle purposefully strolled through the streets, ending up at a small, dark house in a sparse, quiet neighborhood.

Riddle pulled open the door and headed inside, leaving the door open for the rest. Blaise examined the room as he entered the rundown looking building. There wasn't much to look at. Two dark green couches sat across from each other with a short, square, mahogany table in between. A dirty stone fireplace stood against the wall across from the door and behind the table. The room wouldn't have been an assault to Blaise's senses if the dusty furniture was the only affront, but the garish yellow and green wallpaper made him flinch.

Avery, Lestrange, and Rosier took seats on the couches, and Nott followed right behind, trying to act like he belonged. As Blaise hesitated, Riddle sent him an expectant look. Pretending he hadn't noticed, Blaise took the other side of the couch Avery sat on. He didn't like how this was going. There couldn't possibly be a good reason for Riddle to take the group to some strange, abandoned house in Diagon Alley, and Blaise didn't even know why he was invited.

Once Blaise had taken his seat, Riddle walked over to stand in front of the fireplace. "Nott, Marsden, the wizarding world is currently facing a turning point. Acceptance of the admission of mudbloods and muggles into our world has never been higher than it is now. Nott, you recently expressed your concerns to me over the matter. And when I asked you, Marsden, you conveyed similar dissatisfaction. Is that correct, Marsden? Do you worry about a future where muggles are prioritized in our own world?"

"That could never happen," Blaise scoffed. "It's our world. Muggles don't stand a chance in getting one up over wizards." "They do if ignorant wizards keep making allowances. Pay attention to what's going on, Marsden," Lestrange chipped in. Riddle watched on silently as Lestrange made his point for him. "A few years ago, muggles weren't even allowed on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Now, the parents of any mudblood brat come to watch the kid get on the train. Muggles aren't supposed to enter magical areas. That's just the first part too. My father works in the ministry, and he says they're starting to hire muggles to act as consultant for dealing with muggles. Imagine muggles working in the Ministry of Magic! What a farce!"

"So you see that our concerns are perfectly valid," Riddle continued from where Lestrange left off, catching Blaise's gaze with a drilling stare.

"Perhaps," Blaise allowed. Riddle probably wouldn't let it go if Blaise didn't agree with him.

"Definitely," Riddle corrected. "Do you want to risk a world where muggles freely traverse our regions?" Blaise shook his head. It was the only appropriate response. "Then you should do something about it. Something to put a stop to this trend."

"What exactly could I do?" Blaise asked. He thought of the future. Voldemort's method involved building up an army, terrorizing his enemies, and trying to take over the ministry. That all seemed a little too big scale for the 17 year old standing in front of him.

Riddle smiled at Blaise as if that was the question he hoped Blaise would ask. "We start with showing someone that thinks preaching about the value of muggles in our society is okay that it isn't. Gregory Smith has been making his rounds in interviews, advocating for the rights of mudblood parents to have access to strictly wizarding locations."

"Alright," Blaise said hesitantly. He didn't particularly fancy getting involved in whatever Riddle was up to, but refusal didn't seem like an option at the moment. "How?"

Riddle smirked. He was getting to the point he wanted to. "We destroy everything Smith owns. Leave him a little message."

Blaise flicked his eyes around the room, starting to get an idea of why they were in this dinky house. "I take it this is Gregory Smith's house."

"You're smarter than the usual dolts I deal with." Riddle chuckled while their other companions shifted uncomfortably at the implication of that statement. "Well, Marsden, why don't you take the lead?"

Following Riddle's hand with his eyes as Riddle gestured to the room, Blaise shrugged before pulling out his wand. It wasn't as if the destruction of the tawdry and dusty furnishing would be a great loss. Blaise would probably be doing the man a favor.


	9. Chapter 9

Blaise lazily flicked his wand, cracking a window in Smith's house. Rosier viciously obliterated everything in his path while Avery and Lestrange approached the destruction with carefully planned artistry, making sure to etch messages in the cushions with scorch marks. Eager to please, Nott followed after Rosier, trying to prove that he could keep up with the others.

Out of the corner of his eye, Blaise saw Riddle leaning against the wall, overseeing the chaos he put into motion. He had his arms crossed over his chest as he looked over the scene with the faintest hint of a pleased smile on his face. Blaise frowned as he turned away and made his way to the dinky kitchen. Destroying the man's furniture couldn't be what was making Riddle that happy. This act wouldn't accomplish anything of significance. As Blaise listlessly knocked a few glasses out of a cupboard, he considered what the real purpose of this operation was.

Wrecking the property of someone was an amateur move that would be forgotten about in less than a week, not that Riddle's cronies seemed to think so. Maybe that was the point, Blaise thought as he leant back against the counter. He didn't particularly feel the need to continue putting in effort to break stuff. If Riddle got his followers to believe they were contributing to a cause, he could exert more control over them. They would see Riddle as a leader that helped them to make a difference. Riddle knew he wasn't yet instilling fear into the wizarding world, but he was sowing the seeds that would eventually get him to that point. His rise to power came about thirty years into the future which meant that Riddle had a long way to go. He had to start off small.

Blaise didn't like the implication. Riddle wanted Blaise as one of his followers. More importantly, Riddle felt confident enough in getting Blaise on his side that he included him in this escapade. Blaise irritatedly hit his fist against the counter. He didn't painstakingly avoid aligning with Voldemort through his seventh year only to end up trapped into joining him fifty years in the past.

From the other room, Blaise heard Riddle call out, "That's enough. Let's get out of here before someone notices we're missing."

Blaise made his way back into the living room as Avery and Lestrange put their finishing touches on the wall across from the doorway. With more scorch marks, they etched, "Blood Traitor". They were not going for subtlety.

As the group made their way back to Hogsmeade, Blaise noted a smug and content mood amongst his peers. Riddle seemed pleased with the zealousness with which his followers did his bidding. The other four clearly felt uplifted in their involvement with something they found important and adventurous. Nott was the happiest of them all, having been included with those he so obviously admired. Blaise hoped none of them noticed how he wasn't the least bit happy with the situation.

"It finally made the paper!" Avery called out excitedly waving the Daily Prophet around the dorm room. It was only two days after the Hogsmeade trip, and Blaise did not think 'finally' was the right word.

"Stop parading it around foolishly," Riddle snapped holding out his hand for the paper. Avery calmed down and handed over the paper which Riddle opened up. He read the article quietly, lips twitching in amusement as he did so. "The ever erroneous Prophet has attributed the vandalism to Grindelwald sympathizers."

Lestrange made a choked noise. "Grindelwald! As if I sympathize with that foolishness!"

"Do you not?" Blaise couldn't help asking. Grindelwald's views aligned with his dorm mates views from his own observations.

Everyone's eyes turned to him in disbelief except Riddle who seemed to have expected the question. "No!" Avery almost shouted.

"Absolutely not," Lestrange stated vehemently.

"Are you as incapable of listening as you are of talking?" Rosier sneered.

"Everyone settle down. Marsden has made a valid inquiry," Riddle said pacifyingly. He tossed the newspaper onto Avery's bed before giving his full attention to Blaise, an action that always sent shivers up Blaise's spine. "We do agree with Grindelwald on some issues. Magic and magic society need to be protected and freed from the constraint of muggle expectations, that much is true. We take issue with Grindelwald's ultimate plan and his methods of conquest. He wants the muggle world to become integrated with our world with the muggles as our charges. What we actually need is to separate muggles from us completely. The two worlds will never mesh together smoothly, and Grindelwald is a fool for thinking otherwise."

"I see," Blaise said. "What do you plan to do with the muggles then? If you plan to no longer put in the effort to hide magic, what happens to the muggles?"

"That's not really a concern of mine. We have all the power. They'll learn to stay out of our way and to mind their own business. They can keep their own muggle governments and societies as long as they don't try to impose their rules and expectations onto us."

Based on the attacks on muggles and the confidence of Death Eaters that muggles would serve them, Blaise didn't believe Riddle's words. It was possible that he changed his objective in the thirty years before he truly came to power, but Blaise didn't think that was the case. He suspected Riddle kept true goals private because he knew most people would balk at his more extreme ideas. Riddle was trying to gradually acclimate potential followers so as not to scare them off right away. Blaise felt his stomach turn. As long as that word, "potential", stayed, Blaise wasn't in too deep.

After that short conversation, Blaise took even greater care in his attempts to avoid his dorm mates. Of course, there wasn't much he could do to avoid them in class or during meals, but the rest of the students acted as a buffer for him in such cases. He stayed out of the common room as late as he could, retiring as soon as he slipped into the dorm just before curfew. Unfortunately, there was only so much he could avoid people that he shared a room with. Not too long into Blaise's new elusive schedule, Avery confronted him. It was Sunday morning, and everyone else was awake by the time Blaise finished dressing for the day.

"You've been in the library more often than usual lately," Avery said after the obligatory good morning greeting.

"I want to get straight O's in my NEWTs," Blaise offered as explanation.

"Grand career plans?" Avery asked with a raised brow.

"Something like that," Blaise said not planning on giving away anything more than necessary.

"What do you plan to do after school?" Riddle asked as he straightened up the cuffs of his robes. "Based on your course schedule, if I had to hazard a guess, I'd go with curse-breaker."

All Blaise's classes were certainly required for becoming a curse-breaker, but he'd never considered a career in that field. "I eventually plan to supervise the invention of new spells and potions." Spell creation had always intrigued Blaise, and he had no intention of admitting to his desires to work in the Department of Mysteries.

Riddle nodded as if in approval. "That's a good career choice."

"Why don't you just invent your own spells?" Avery piped up.

"That's not a career. That's a gamble," Lestrange called out from behind his bed curtains. He emerged from behind the curtains, fully dressed. "You only get paid if your idea gets sponsored by the Ministry, and the pay is pittance until you actually succeed. Even then, you only get the one time payment."

"What spell would Marsden invent anyways?" Rosier asked from the edge of his bed. "A spell that takes the words out of his mind so that he doesn't have to actually say them himself?"

"Rosier, please, leave the boy alone," Riddle chided as Blaise grabbed his library books he had to return, more than ready to leave.

"I'm just joking," Rosier grumbled. "You don't take offense, do you, Marsden?"

Blaise plastered a fake smile on his face as he turned around. "Of course not."

"Good. I'd hate to have you turn me away later on if I have a spell I want to invent."

Avery laughed. "And what spell would you invent?"

"I could invent a spell," Rosier defended. With their attention diverted, Blaise took the opportunity to leave for breakfast.

Much to his exasperation, Avery grasped his shoulder after they finished their meal. "Are you going off to the library again? Why don't you join us outside? We're having an exploding snap tournament."

"I really should study for my upcoming Arithmancy exam," Blaise said as he shrugged off Avery's hand.

"Nonsense. The exam isn't until Friday," Riddle said coming up to stand beside Avery. "You should join us. It's good to get some fresh air every once in awhile. If you really must, you could bring your study materials with you."

Unable to think of a viable reason not to agree, Blaise reluctantly assented. As the other four played exploding snap- something Blaise never thought he'd witness the dark lord doing- Blaise pretended to study his Arithmancy book. It was a bit surreal listening to childish banter from the future dark lord and his Death Eaters, but also sort of relaxing in a way. At least, it was relaxing until Avery accused Rosier of cheating and a argument broke out between the two.

"If I'm cheating then prove it," Rosier challenged holding up his arms in a gesture of innocence.

"I can't prove you banished an ace, but there's clearly an ace missing."

"How do you know Corvus didn't do it? Or Tom?" At the suggestion, Riddle raised an eyebrow and settled a cool gaze onto Rosier. "Er, not that I'm actually accusing you, Tom."

"But you are accusing me?" Lestrange asked looking offended.

"I'm not accusing anyone. All I know is I didn't do it. Maybe Avery did it and he's just trying to pass the blame."

"You bloody well know it wasn't me," Avery snarled, and Blaise sighed quietly behind his book. "Admit it was you."

"What if I don't? What are you going to do?" Rosier taunted.

"I'll… I'll… I'll crucio you, you prat," Avery threatened, but playfully as if he didn't mean the threat. It didn't matter that he didn't mean it. Just the word made Blaise take a sharp intake of breath and loosen his grip on his book, letting it fall into his lap. The slight noise was enough to catch the rest of his dorm mates attention. Riddle narrowed his gaze in on Blaise's hands. Realizing his hands were violently shaking, Blaise took the book back in his hands and forced them to hold still. His knuckles started to pale from the force of his grip.

"Are you alright, Marsden?" Riddle asked with genuine sounding concern.

 _Control yourself,_ Blaise ordered himself. _It wasn't even a real threat._

"I'm fine," Blaise said aloud. He couldn't even defend himself. His reaction had been too obvious.

Riddle kept his eyes on Blaise. "You have personal experience with the cruciatus, Marsden?" Riddle enunciated the name of the curse deliberately. Now that he wasn't caught by surprise, Blaise managed to hold back his reaction.

"No," Blaise lied challengingly.

Riddle narrowed his eyes. "I hadn't realized you were in possession of a backbone."

Blaise sucked his breath in at the slight. Of course he hadn't dared to stand up to the future Lord Voldemort before, but he couldn't get into this part of his past. He noticed the other boys taking in the exchange with eager and curious eyes.

"Nothing to say?" Riddle added when Blaise hadn't answered.

"No," Blaise affirmed.

"Well enough. We're all entitled to our secrets," Riddle relented though the intense look in his eyes belied the allowance in his words.

"Thank you," Blaise forced out though he knew this wasn't the end of the matter. Sleep failed to overtake him that night as memories plagued him.


	10. Chapter 10

If there was one thing Blaise was determined to never do it was to make waves. As such, he'd hardly hesitated when Amycus Carrow, the newly named Dark Arts professor, ordered him to take his turn casting crucio on other students. His first victim had been a fellow seventh year, one of those fool Gryffindors that made it their purpose in life to end it as quick as possible. Blaise didn't want to cast the curse on him- he didn't go out of his way to harm others- but Finnegan had brought it upon himself. Speaking out against Voldemort so publically- what else did the idiot expect?

Blaise distanced his mind from the situation and focused his stare on Finnegan's left arm. His face had been too expressive, too accusing, too blatantly defiant. Mustering his strength, Blaise held his wand arm steady toward Finnegan and called out in a cold voice, "Crucio." The ear piercing screams that followed were the first of many that made cameos in Blaise's recurring nightmares. He remembered all their names. Each of them more naive and unworthy of pity than the last, except for her.

When Blaise stepped up to take his turn cursing her, she stared up at him with pleading eyes. In response, Blaise pointed his wand at her. As soon as he did, her expression changed to betrayal. Blaise felt an anger rush through him. He should be the one feeling betrayed. He thought she was smart, too smart to end up in this position. Irrationality such as this was more suited to her twin sister. Holding onto his anger, Blaise found the will within himself to utter the word he'd gotten all too used to uttering. When Padma's screams finally ended, she slumped down to the ground, silent sobs racking her body. Blaise walked stiffly back to his seat, Amycus' words of praise somehow not loud enough to drown out Padma's near inaudible crying.

The next time Blaise saw her was two years after the war had ended. It started with a knock on the door. Blaise answered the door to see a beautiful woman in stunning green dress robes staring icily back at him. "Padma," Blaise breathed in surprise, a twisting sick sensation settling in his gut. "What are you doing here?"

"I have a few things to say to you, if you will let me inside." When Blaise failed to respond to her request, Padma levelled him with a stern gaze. "I think you owe me at least that much."

Silently, Blaise moved aside allowing Padma to step into the room. "Would you like some tea?" Blaise offered politely as he shut the door.

Padma curled her fist and twisted her face into a snarl. "Are you seriously trying to treat this like we're two old schoolmates catching up?"

"I'm just trying to offer the appropriate accommodations." Blaise raised his hands plaintively. He shouldn't have let her in. He hadn't even thought it through when he'd done so. As soon as Blaise had seen Padma, his mind had gone numb. Last he heard, Padma was working at a potions research center. Blaise had thought and hoped that he'd never see her again. Her presence only filled him with that sickening sinking feeling he could only associate with his seventh year at Hogwarts.

"Well, don't," Padma spat. She shook her head resolutely and unfurled her fists, her face relaxing into a calmer more impassive visage. "I actually came here planning to curse you out, to lay out all the ways that you're one of the foulest beings to walk the earth, worthy of only animosity and denigration. Seeing you now, I realize any overly dramatic way I could come up with to insult you would only give in to your own self importance."

"Then what? If you're not going to self righteously scrutinize the decisions I made under duress, then what do you want?" Blaise sneered. _How dare she come into my house and try to tear down my character,_ Blaise thought ignoring the voice inside his head that told him Padma was completely justified in anything she said.

Padma clenched her jaw and answered stiffly. "Do you not understand that I was under the same duress? That all of us you so flippantly tortured were? We managed to make the right decision."

"No, you didn't!" Blaise exploded. He took a breath and calmed himself. Speaking in anger never helped in an argument. "All of you were completely obvious about your resistance, and all it got you was captured and tortured. You all would have been smarter to lie low and build a resistance in secret."

"Not if it meant having to do what you did. I've always been callous and fairly selfish, but I'd still never torture an innocent."

"Fine, then," Blaise snapped. "You're a better person than me. Is that what you wished to hear?"

Padma pursed her lips. "No. A compliment on my character doesn't mean anything coming from someone of your nature. An apology would be a good start, but I guess I can't expect that from someone who always rationalizes their actions as the right choice."

"Do you want me to regret my choices? Do you think it would have helped anything if I too had to endure the torture? I guess that's what you wanted. It would make you happier if I had been pointlessly crucioed too."

At his words, Padma gave Blaise a smirk that was very unlike herself. "Funny you should say so, because I'm thinking that would make me a little happier." It was a testament to how off kilter Blaise was in Padma's presence that he didn't pick up on the warning signs. Padma swiftly pulled out her wand, and before Blaise could react, she coldly uttered the curse, "Crucio."

Immediately, unimaginable pain permeated every cell in Blaise's body like a bunch of white hot knives slicing into him. As the pain overcame him, Blaise let out a completely unfettered scream until he didn't have the breath to do so anymore. Just as he was thinking he was actually going to suffocate, the agony ended as swiftly as it had started. Blaise stayed on the floor gasping for air and blinking furiously in the wake of the assault. In his trauma, he barely comprehended Padma's form standing over him, the picture of indifference.

"I also came here to do this," Padma announced, her voice hard to interpret in Blaise's muddled mind. "It's been said that revenge doesn't make you happy, but I'm feeling pretty satisfied right now. I hope the next time you try to rationalize your cowardice you remember that this is what you put us all through." As she finished speaking, she exited leaving Blaise alone to recover from the worst experience of his life.

Those were the memories that plagued Blaise the night Avery casually brought up the curse.


	11. Chapter 11

The next day in History of Magic, Blaise suddenly felt a breath tickle the skin under his ear and a voice hissed out, "crucio" quietly. Blaise dropped his quill and froze, memories coming back unbidden. He shook himself from his stupor as he heard Rosier's quiet mocking laugh behind him. Stiffly, Blaise took hold of his quill again ignoring the few stares from those that noticed his reaction. Blaise forced himself not to make further of a scene and kept himself from digging into his scroll with his quill. When class finally let out, Blaise eyed Rosier, but he couldn't very well retaliate with Riddle and his ilk present. He really didn't need the group to know how much the mere word affected him.

Rosier didn't wait long before trying to get a rise out of Blaise again. On their way to the dorms, he brushed by him with another whispered, "Crucio." Blaise didn't let himself give in to the panic anymore than a slight stumble he would've thought unnoticed if not for the sly smirk Rosier gave him over his shoulder. Blaise hadn't made a definite decision until that moment. He had to retaliate.

Blaise had to endure a few more of Rosier's taunts before he'd gotten him alone. One Thursday night, Blaise followed behind Rosier and Avery as they left for Quidditch practice. Blaise waited until they were a safe enough distance away before stunning Avery and disarming Rosier. Rosier spun around and snarled at Blaise. "Marsden, what the bleeding hell are you doing?"

Blaise waved Rosier's wand in front of his face. "For once in your life, Rosier, do be quiet."

Fuming, Rosier reached for his wand and Blaise stepped away easily. "You had better give me my wand back right now."

"And why would I do that when I went through the trouble of getting it in the first place? Perhaps, you should keep a better hold on your wand," Blaise pointed out. Rosier advanced on Blaise, and he shot an incarcerous at Rosier deciding to put an end to that quickly. "I'm just trying to have a friendly conversation."

"I wasn't aware you were capable of such a thing as a conversation," Rosier spat stiffly in his restrictive state. "Those generally require a pattern of statement and response in repetition. And, you know, sentences that include more than three words."

"Let's see… You asked a question. I responded to which you responded. Then, I spoke again. Then you, then me. Statement and response done three times over and nothing I said under three words yet," Blaise recapped. "I conclude that we are in the midst of a conversation according to your hastily thrown together definition."

"You sound like you think you're bloody clever. Well, get on with it then. You must have attacked me for a reason."

"You're right. I did. You need to mind your own business from now on. It'd be preferable if you just never spoke to me again."

Rosier cackled. "You're that afraid of a little word, Marsden? What happened? Did daddy discipline you with a bit of cruciatus?"

Blaise couldn't help the dark laugh that escaped his mouth. "If you don't know something, it's better to admit it than to just invent nonsense." Blaise leveled his wand at Rosier. "I'd rather we get back to the matter at hand. Don't antagonize me, Rosier. I don't know what you're attempting, but-"

"Marsden," Riddle's cold, sharp voice rang out in the empty corridor. Blaise froze, wand still pointed at Rosier who smirked, clearly in the belief that Riddle was on his side. "Please, put the wand down. I'm sure there's no such need between friends."

Blaise stowed his wand and tossed Rosier's at his feet. Maybe he hadn't gotten the message, but Blaise could give him a clearer message later if needed. "My apologies, Rosier. I'm sure our future encounters will be more civil."

"Do release him," Riddle ordered. Blaise raised his wand at Rosier nonchalantly, freeing him from the invisible bindings. Immediately, Blaise made to leave, but Riddle reached a halting hand out laying it on Blaise's arm. Blaise froze at the touch, throat dry. "Hold on, Marsden. We're not done here."

"We sure aren't," Rosier snarled from behind. Blaise spun around to see Rosier pointing his wand at him. Before he had time to properly react, Rosier once again uttered, "Crucio."

Blaise braced himself for the coming pain, all the blood draining from his face in fear. After a couple of beats where Blaise shook in horrifying anticipation, Rosier burst out laughing. It took a while for Blaise's panicked mind to piece together what had happened. When he realized Rosier had just pretended to curse him, white hot fury filled Blaise, stronger than he ever felt before. Without even thinking about Riddle's presence, he heaved a blasting spell at Rosier who threw up a hasty shield, wide eyed. Blaise's curse broke through the shield smashing into Rosier and blasting him into the wall. Blaise advanced on him quickly, grabbing Rosier's throat and holding his wand to his temple.

"Think the cruciatus is funny, do you?" Blaise hissed angrily. "Why don't I see if I cast it on you if you still find it funny- if after screaming louder than you could have thought possible, you're even capable of making a sound."

"You're all talk and no bite," Rosier rasped tauntingly.

Blaise smirked. "Ironic considering all your comments on how little I talk, but if you insist…" Silently, Blaise pointed his wand at Rosier's hand and cast _augere ignatio,_ a spell that caused a burning pain. He couldn't actually cast crucio. He swore to himself he never would again. Besides, Geddes was supposedly keeping some sort of supervision over him. It would surprise Blaise if that didn't include making sure he didn't cast unforgivables.

As the pain hit Rosier, his face twisted up in various positions, obviously trying not to make a noise. Blaise smirked wider. The pain only got worse the longer the spell lasted.

"Marsden, I suggest you stop right now," Riddle advised coolly. Just like that, Blaise felt as if he'd been hit with a particularly intense freezing charm. He'd completely forgotten Riddle's presence in his rage. Shakily, he released the spell. "And step back from Arche, if you please," Riddle requested in a voice that sounded more like a command than his last three words would indicate.

Blood still boiling, Blaise slowly stepped away from Rosier releasing him from his hold. Rosier cradled his hurt hand in his other hand and glared balefully at Blaise. "You're going to regret that."

"Arche, leave," Riddle ordered. With one last nasty look towards Blaise promising retribution, Rosier made his way over to Avery and rennervated him. As Rosier dragged away a confused and barely lucid Avery, Blaise turned to face Riddle deeply unsettled. Not only had he lost control in front of the last person he'd want to lose control in front of, but the look on Rosier's face told him he'd done something he'd painstakingly taken measures against his whole life- he'd made an enemy.

"As Head Boy, I cannot condone a student attacking another student," Riddle said with a flat mouth as soon as Rosier and Avery were no longer visible.

Blaise cleared his throat. "I assure you, it won't happen again." Not if he could help it. Meeting a threat head on wasn't his style. He planned to deal with Rosier more indirectly.

"No, it had better not." Riddle let his face twist into a mimicry of concern, a mimicry Blaise would have fallen for if he hadn't known who Riddle really was. "I'm inclined to let this one instance slide given the nature of Arche's provocation. It's clear he used a traumatic experience against you, and I can't condemn you for reacting as you did in such a case."

"I thank you for your understanding," Blaise forced himself to say, not falling for the false empathy given by Riddle's words. Still, he was relieved that Riddle was still playing nice with him. When he dropped the act, that would be when Blaise knew he was in trouble.

"I'm aware we're not very good friends yet, but you could talk to me if you need to. I understand it might be beneficial to talk these things over," Riddle said carefully keeping his face in that faux concerned expression. Blaise carefully composed his own face to not give off any of the irritation he felt. The last thing he wanted to do was have a tete a tete with Voldemort about the lasting psychological damage he'd potentially accrued during his seventh year.

"I appreciate the offer," Blaise lied. "But I don't wish to talk about it."

"I understand. If you change your mind, you know where to find me." Riddle turned and left, effectively ending the conversation. Once he was far enough, Blaise let out a sigh of relief. That could have gone much worse. Luckily, Riddle was still trying to build a false friendship with Blaise.

Blaise went to bed planning what to do about Rosier. After all, his mother had said, "There's only one thing to do if you make an enemy- get rid of them by any means possible."

The next evening after Blaise got back in from the library, Rosier approached him with a distasteful look on his face. Casually, Blaise placed his hand near his wand. "I would like to formally apologize for my behavior," Rosier bit out not sounding apologetic in the least. "I was inconsiderate towards you, and my behavior was inexcusable."

"Apology accepted," Blaise said considering whether he should offer a return apology. It might lessen Rosier's animosity towards him. Besides, he could see Riddle in the background seemingly focused on a book. "I too would apologize for reacting with such unnecessary hostility."

"Well," Rosier curled his lip. "I'm glad we're agreed to put this unpleasantness behind us." With that, Rosier spun around and stomped off towards his bed, briefly glancing towards Riddle as if for approval. Riddle didn't glance up from his book nor give any other sort of indication that he noticed Rosier's attention. Once Rosier settled into bed and closed his curtains, Riddle set his book down and closed his own bed curtains. Blaise frowned. Unsurprisingly, Rosier's apology was orchestrated by Riddle. Riddle's attempts to pull Blaise into his little group were concerning to put it lightly.

As expected, Rosier did not put the matter behind him no matter what he said in his apology. Blaise found himself the target of tripping jinxes, tampered potions ingredients, and biting remarks- none of which would be too concerning if not for the hateful look in Rosier's eyes promising worse if he could get away with it. Avery too seemed a little peeved with Blaise since he'd stunned him, but after an apology, Avery said that he understood the need to curse Rosier.

"Don't ever stun me again, though," he warned with a brief pat on Blaise's shoulder to ensure he held no hard feelings. Regardless, his manner towards Blaise was a bit cooler from then on.

In contrast, Lestrange, who hadn't interacted with Blaise much before, greatly warmed up to him. "What did you do to Arche to make him so hostile? He's stayed surprisingly mum on the topic," Lestrange said in ancient runes the week after the incident with Rosier.

Blaise pressed his lips together tightly. This was the biggest mistake he'd made other than stealing the time turner that brought him to this horrid time in the first place. He'd made too big of a production of himself, and he didn't yet know how to fix it. "We had a bit of a disagreement," was all Blaise said.

Lestrange chuckled lightly. "Don't say then. I'm sure whatever it was, Rosier deserved it. He could be a right prick sometimes."

Blaise raised his eyebrows. "Isn't he your friend?"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean i can't acknowledge his faults. He can be substantially cruel and brutish at times."

Blaise looked at Lestrange consideringly. Maybe he could pry just a little information out of Lestrange that could prove helpful. "Exactly how cruel and brutish?"

Lestrange gave Blaise a once over. "You're worried. Don't be. Rosier's never done anything… extreme."

"And what classifies as extreme?"

Lestrange shrugged. "I wouldn't put it past him to break an arm, but nothing permanent."

That wasn't good news for Blaise. If Rosier's supposed good friend thought him capable of breaking bones, he was likely capable of much worse. Or maybe Blaise was just being too cautious, but Blaise didn't believe in too cautious. "Is he in the habit of breaking arms?"

"Not that I'm aware of, but he did spend a lot of time with Mulciber. He was a nasty sort." Mulciber. The group had mentioned that name before. All Blaise knew about him was that he'd been in the year ahead and had been part of the group until he graduated. Sometimes, his name came up with an Alphard Black, Abraxas Malfoy, and Marsic Hancey. All three of them had already graduated. Blaise was struck with an idea, and now that he had a direction, he couldn't talk to someone so close to the prey. Blaise didn't ask Lestrange anymore questions related to Rosier.


	12. Chapter 12

The next time Black sat with Blaise in the library, he spoke up for the first time. "Is Alphard Black any relation to you?" he asked though he knew the answer would be in the affirmative. The odds of him being unrelated to the predominantly Slytherin Black family was slim.

Black jerked up in surprise either by Blaise speaking at all or by the subject of the question. "He's a cousin. Why do you ask?"

"My dorm mates bring him up from time to time. What does he do now that he's graduated?"

Black narrowed her eyes at Blaise suspiciously. "Nobody knows. As soon as he graduated, Alphie went gallivanting around the continent. He's trying to- and I quote- 'experience life while I'm still young enough to consider myself living'. Last i heard, he was in Finland."

Blaise nodded to himself. If Alphard Black currently dwelled in a foreign country, Blaise had little hope of tracking him down easily. Besides, Black was just an opener. Blaise was really hoping to learn of Mulciber's whereabouts. "What about Jacob Mulciber?"

Black frowned. "I wouldn't have any idea what he's gotten up to and I have no desire to know."

"I take it you don't like him very much," Blaise mused.

"Not in the slightest," Black said distastefully.

Blaise stared back thoughtfully. "I heard he was quite close with Rosier."

Closing her book, Black frowned again at Blaise. "Not so much as far as I could tell, though I could imagine them getting along. Mulciber and Rosier are a bit similar in some ways. You could say Mulciber is Rosier if Rosier actually had intelligence and was three times crueler. That being said, I didn't see the two of them together very often."

Did people outside of Riddle's group not know that they were friends? Was Riddle that careful? Either way, he decided to give up on digging for information on Mulciber. "What of Marsic Hancey? Do you have any idea what he's done since graduation?"

Surprisingly, Black grinned. "Hancey's sort of a friend of mine," Black explained. "He's working at an apothecary in Diagon Alley."

"An apothecary," Blaise repeated absently. It shouldn't be hard to find someone with that much information. He'd start there.

"Yes," Black confirmed. "Not very ambitious for a Slytherin, but Marsic's a strange one. Why are you suddenly so interested in our recent Slytherin alumni?"

Blaise had prepared an answer for this. "I'm trying to see what connections my dorm mates have." He didn't see the need to expand any further.

"I see," Black said slowly. She then reopened her book and turned her attention back to it. Blaise assumed she lost interest in the conversation which worked perfectly for him. He'd gotten what he needed. Just as Blaise started to get reabsorbed in his own reading material, Black spoke up again. "If you're looking for connections, you should have asked about Malfoy. He and Riddle were close."

Blaise didn't particularly want to ask about Malfoy. It wasn't accidental that Blaise left Abraxas Malfoy for last. The grandfather might not share many traits with his grandson, but the Malfoy name automatically filled Blaise with distaste. Still, he had to keep up with the lie. "What connections does Malfoy have?"

"He's working as an assistant for Marvin Revell," Black said as if the name should be familiar to Blaise. Blaise silently reprimanded himself for not looking more into important figures of the time period.

"Impressive," Blaise opted to say softly.

"Indeed. If I'd known he had those kind of connections, I would have understood why he always acted as if he owned the school."

Blaise declined to continue the conversation instead choosing to burrow himself back into his book.

The Saturday that started winter break, Blaise wandered the streets of Diagon Alley disguised as a portly middle-aged man, trying to find his way. Many of the stores were the same as the ones from his time, but just as many were different. The same apothecary Blaise remembered from his time didn't have anyone working there by the name of Marsic Hancey. After wondering about and failing to find another apothecary, he'd resorted to asking for directions.

"The apothecary's right by the entrance," said the short man Blaise had asked. "You can't miss it. It says 'Apothecary' in big letters."

"Is there another apothecary here? I didn't find what I was looking for in that one," Blaise asked impatiently.

The man's stare turned suspicious. "There's Crassio Semita, but I wouldn't suggest going there."

Blaise ignored the man's warning and immediately sped off in the direction he'd seen the sign for Crassio Semita. The store had not looked like an apothecary with its collection of animals and books visible through the window. As Blaise entered the store, he saw a collection of vials on the back wall not visible from outside the store. A young man stood behind the counter slicing into a dead newt with a small knife and thankfully wearing a nametag that said Mr. Hancey. He glanced up from his work when Blaise entered and sent a small smile in his direction. "Good afternoon, sir," he greeted.

Blaise returned the greeting as he approached the counter, surreptitiously seeking out any signs that someone else might be lurking about in the backroom. "Why all the caged animals?" Blaise couldn't help asking out of curiosity.

The man pointed at the newt with his knife, inadvertently sticking it in the eye. "We've got to carry fresh stock. It's more potent." He tried to gesture with his knife for emphasis only then realizing he'd stuck the eye. "Oh, bother. Would you mind terribly grabbing me another newt? I don't fancy getting newt guts all over the newt cage. Gloves are by the cash register."

Blaise frowned at the gall of asking a customer to do work, but grabbed the gloves anyway. Cooperation might make the wizard amenable to Blaise's later requests. Before opening the cage, Blaise quickly sent a locking spell on the door. This apothecary seemed to be very unpopular, but Blaise needed to make sure he had time for warning in case a customer came by. As he gently grabbed the newt out of the cage, he caught sight of a cat in a corner cage and grimaced. As far as he knew, the only parts of cats used in potions was fur, and he couldn't imagine anyone insisting on having fresh fur.

"You don't see too many apothecaries carrying fresh stock anymore," Blaise speculated as he brought the newt over. It was more of a guess, but a good one considering such a shop would be relegated to Knockturn Alley in his time.

The man took the newt from him with thanks and started extracting the eye with a grin. "This type of practice makes the average wizard a bit squeamish."

"Quite," Blaise agreed thinking that he really didn't need to become privy to exactly how one extracted a newt's eye without damaging it. As far as he was concerned, apothecaries had it right in his time. Fresher ingredients could make a potion more potent, but a potion made right should be as potent as necessary regardless.

"So what can I help you with today?" Hancey said raising a brow as if wondering why Blaise hadn't already made a request.

"I need an order of lacewing flies and fresh toad heart." The fresh toad heart was an addition to Blaise's plan that he added to give himself an excuse to chat longer.

The man nodded slightly and turned himself around to grab the appropriate vial. Blaise took the opportunity to cast a minor trust charm, so Hancey wouldn't get suspicious if Blaise started asking tame questions. By the time the man turned back around, Blaise had his wand stowed, casually leaning against the counter. "Here you are Mr.-" the man let his sentence trail as he placed the vial in front of Blaise.

"Andrus," Blaise answered grimacing as he took the vial which definitely had traces of newt blood on it. Hancey had been worried about getting newt guts on the cage, but apparently, a customer's product was perfectly fine to sully!

"Mr. Andrus then. Would you mind doing one more favor and fetching your own toad? I'll give you a discount."

Blaise nodded shortly sure that he wouldn't put up with any of this had he not had ulterior motives. "You're quite young to be running this shop alone. How long have you been out of Hogwarts?" Blaise called out over his shoulder as he studied the toads. He grabbed the largest one.

"Just graduated last year," the man said as he took the proffered toad from Blaise. "My uncle owns the shop, but he trust me to look after it on my own."

"Are these the extent of your career plans?"

"Yes. I originally thought of becoming a private tutor, but I realized I had access to many valuable ingredients if I worked with my uncle." Hancey briefly looked surprise at having offered that much information but shook it off easily. He stabbed the toad in the back of its neck.

In an effort to avoid learning too much about the intricacies of heart extraction, Blaise examined the vials on the back wall. "That sounds like a very Slytherin motive," Blaise pressed trying to find an opening.

"I was a Slytherin in school," Hancey admitted cheerily.

Blaise scrunched his brows as he read the labels for mer scales and mer hair. Both ingredients were highly illegal in his time, not to mention incredibly dangerous to obtain. "I was as well although that was a long time ago," Blaise lied. "My friends and I had big dreams. I imagine yours did as well."

"Well, my friend, Abraxas, always wanted to be Minister of Magic, and Alphard wanted to be an Auror." Blaise mulled that over as he read a label for vampire blood, another highly illegal ingredient in his time. If Black wanted to be an Auror, why had he gone running off to Finland? Hancey continued, "And Tom, well, I imagine Tom's going to be a lot of things, most of them great."

Blaise couldn't help his eyes flickering back to Hancey as he spoke of Riddle. He wondered how much Hancey knew of Riddle's plans. Annoyed that Hancey hadn't brought up either Mulciber or Rosier, he tried to think of a different approach. He decided to forgo a little bit of subtlety. "Do you have any more friends from your school day?"

"Oh yeah. Alphard's cousin, Lucretia, wants to be a healer." Blaise couldn't help raising his brows at that. He hadn't pegged Black as the healer type. "Mulciber is headed into law and Adam works in a bookstore of all things."

Not caring who Adam was or what his occupation was, Blaise ignored the latter part of that sentence. "It's always good to have a friend in law. Is he a defense attorney?"

"He will be. He's studying magical law under Cooper Reddick."

That seemed to be all the information Blaise needed. He noted Hancey had almost finished with the toad heart, so he needed to end the conversation. "How much are the mer scales?" Blaise asked after a small internal battle over whether to ask after them or not.

Hancey grinned at him knowingly. "You could have just asked from the get go. You didn't need to feel out my character with conversation. If we're willing to provide it, we're willing to sell it without question."

"Excuse me?"

Hancey shook his head. "Lacewing flies? Toad heart? You could get those from any apothecary."

"Not fresh toad heart," Blaise pointed out though he should have just let Hancey attribute the conversation to nerves about buying unsavory potions ingredients.

Hancey laughed. "Mr. Andrus, nobody _just_ wants fresh potions ingredients."

Blaise cleared his throat. "How much for the mer scales then? And everything else that I plan to purchase?"

"Fifteen galleons and three sickles." Hesitantly, Blaise dug out the money and handed it to Hancey who pocketed it. He only had so much money left, but it wasn't everyday he had the opportunity to purchase mer scales. "You know," he started as he pressed the vial and a jar with the toad heart into Blaise's hands. "You remind me a bit of my friend, Tom. He always had an easy way of getting you to feel at ease when he wanted something."

Blaise felt his mouth go dry as he nodded politely and hurried out of the shop. He'd only made Hancey feel as such with the help of a trust charm, but he felt quite uncomfortable by the comparison nonetheless.


	13. Chapter 13

"You're late," Geddes announced as he opened his front door for Blaise.

"I never gave a time." Blaise had sent a letter informing Geddes that he planned to return for the winter break.

"No, but the Hogwarts Express reached its destination hours ago."

"It did," Blaise agreed before stepping passed Geddes into the house. "I'm sorry to intrude on your house, but as a mere student, I don't have the adequate funds to afford my own place."

"You're still not over the fact that I'm making you get a proper education then?" Geddes asked smiling pleasantly.

"No, I'm perfectly content sitting in classes six hours a day while professors drone on about theories I'm already more than familiar with."

Geddes just smiled even wider. "Good. I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."

Blaise sighed and collapsed on Geddes' couch loosening his tie. All the tension left his muscles as he sunk into the couch. He hadn't realized how on edge he'd been around Riddle and the other boys until that moment. He kicked his feet up onto the end table and closed his eyes. In a second, his legs were shoved off the table. Blaise snapped open his eyes to see Geddes putting his wand away.

"I thought proper manners were important to you," Geddes said.

Blaise quirked the corners of his mouth. "I let loose around family, Uncle Lew," he said cheekily.

Geddes snorted. "You're in an uncharacteristically good mood."

Blaise shrugged. "I'm on vacation."

"Ah. In that case, I hope you won't mind too much if I give you a project during your time off."

With curiosity, Blaise straightened up and dropped his relaxed stature. "Why would you have a project for me?"

"If I'm going to consider helping you out careerwise, I have to see what you're capable of."

Full of anticipation and burning hope, Blaise studied Geddes carefully. The man certainly looked sincere. "Are you really going to help me out?"

"I said 'consider'. I can't promise anything. Are you willing to take on the project anyways."

"Yes," Blaise answered immediately.

Geddes smiled wryly. "You don't even know what the nature of this project is. You should at least show some hesitance and ask for more information."

Blaise scoffed. "I haven't signed any binding contracts yet. What is this project then?" He did feel a bit embarrassed over responding so enthusiastically for so little, but he wasn't about to admit that.

"Are you familiar with the sleeping draught?" Geddes asked.

"Am I familiar with a common draught that everyone passed second year has brewed? No, what is it?" Blaise asked snarkily.

"Alright. It was just a lead in question. No need to be offended." Blaise opened his mouth to protest the idea that he was in any way offended, but Geddes barreled on. "What I want you to do is pretty simple. The concept is, at least. Make eight different variations of the sleeping draught, each one replacing a different ingredient of the draught with another ingredient."

Blaise blinked back in bewilderment. He couldn't imagine that every ingredient could be replaced without changing the effect of the potion. Not to mention… "You realize there are only six ingredients in a sleeping draught, right?"

Another amused smile spread across Geddes' face. "Are there?"

"This isn't a trick, is it? It's fairly straightforward if it is."

"There's no trick. Don't worry. I don't expect you to complete the task. I just want to see how far you get. I'll give you until the end of the school year before I check your progress."

Blaise frowned at Geddes. "If it's a doable task, then I'll complete it."  
Geddes looked Blaise over, studying him carefully in a way that made Blaise feel distinctly uncomfortable. He never liked when other people tried to figure him out. Geddes appeared to come to some sort of conclusion, and his eyebrows drew down before he spoke. "Are you unfamiliar with failure, Blaise Zabini?"

"I'm abysmal at flying," Blaise said drily knowing that Geddes wasn't seeking that kind of response.

"Have you ever failed at something truly important to you? Something that you willingly put all of your effort towards?" Unable to help himself, Blaise flickered his eyes away from the growing intensity in Geddes' eyes.

"If it's important to me, why would I allow myself to fail?" Blaise asked forcing himself to meet Geddes gaze once more.

Geddes shook his head. "You're either a liar, or you haven't lived long enough."

"I never made a definitive statement, so I couldn't have lied," Blaise pointed out. "But if you insist on an answer, then it is, in fact, a no."

"You better learn how to fail if you're going to succeed in the Department of Mysteries. We have a saying in the DOM; Fifty percent of the job is asking questions, the other fifty percent is failing to answer them. It's a bit of a joke between us, but it's based in reality. Good luck with the sleeping draughts." After a slight inclination of the head, Geddes exited the room leaving Blaise to wonder if Geddes had purposely given Blaise an impossible task after all.

First thing Monday morning, Blaise checked the house to make sure Geddes already left for work. Once he confirmed Geddes' absence, Blaise gathered supplies he'd stashed away upon arriving at the house. He slipped a flask of polyjuice potion and a flask of hypno potion into his robe pockets. Next, he stowed a secondhand wand he'd bought off the record next to his own wand. He couldn't risk any methods of identification.

After finishing his preparations, Blaise apparated to the visitors entrance of the Ministry of Magic. "Name," the bored voice in the telephone booth clipped impatiently.

"Blaise Marsden."

"Business?"

"I'm here to visit my uncle."

"Who is your uncle?"

"Llewellyn Geddes." After he spoke, a badge printed out for Blaise. He snatched it and pinned it to the the front of his robes.

"Make your way to the atrium for inspection and wand registration. I will inform Mr. Geddes of your arrival."

Blaise carefully composed his face so his disappointment didn't show. He thought Geddes might be informed, but he had hoped not. Unfortunately, entering the ministry under a false identification was nigh impossible. Adopting a disguise after gaining entrance was much easier. Blaise pulled the door of the telephone booth open and made his way to check in. He handed over the wand registered under his own name and waited as the man at the counter confirmed Blaise's identity. Once finished, Blaise made his way to the elevator. Grudgingly, he pressed the button for the ninth floor rather than the one he wanted to press. The elevator went down a floor and then opened to reveal Geddes already waiting for Blaise.

He looked entirely unimpressed with Blaise as Blaise stepped out of the elevator. "I'm not giving you another tour. That was a one time offer."

"I'm not here for a tour," Blaise denied though his eyes involuntarily flitted towards the solid door leading out of the visitors room. "I have a different matter I wish to speak with you about in private."

"Are you sure it can't wait until after work?"

"I suppose it can," Blaise admitted seeing an escape and choosing to take it.

Geddes waved a dismissive hand at Blaise. "No, no. If you came all the way here, we might as well deal with the matter now. We can talk here. It's unlikely anyone will bother us."

"Right," Blaise agreed gritting his teeth. His topic of choice was one that made his skin crawl uncomfortably though he'd chosen it for a reason. "I appreciate that you've offered to provide me with what I need since few of my funds travelled back in time with me, but I find myself at a loss when I come across an unexpected purchase. Understand that I would not ask for such under typical circumstances, but-"

Geddes held up a hand interrupting Blaise who for once appreciated getting interrupted rather than having to continue with the humiliating request. "I understand, and I'm prepared to make arrangements," Geddes offered without even a hint of a taunt. Blaise relaxed.

Thirty minutes later, Blaise re-entered the elevator with a permissive note for Gringotts and a lingering sense of unease from the distasteful conversation. He'd never lacked money before, and his pride certainly took a hit. Still, it was a necessary evil to excuse his presence at the ministry.

Blaise slipped into the nearest bathroom making sure no one saw and retrieved his vial of polyjuice. Adding hair he'd gotten from a muggle in London, Blaise downed half of the foul tasting potion. He'd picked someone roughly the same size, so the transition went fairly smoothly. When the skin on his hand got to about five shades lighter, Blaise spelled a different name onto his visitors badge. Once again, Blaise entered the elevator, this time pressing the button for the second floor.

Blaise traveled through the halls to the lawyer offices and approached the visitors desk. "I have a consultation scheduled with Cooper Reddick for eleven o'clock," Blaise announced to the woman behind the desk. The woman glanced over her papers, at Blaise's visitor badge, and at the clock; probably wondering why Blaise was more than half an hour early.

"Mr. Cook? Mr. Reddick likely won't be able to see you early," the woman said.

"I'll just wait on the couch." Blaise sat on one of the waiting couches and picked up one of the Daily Prophets sitting on the table. Blaise sat reading articles, glancing up every once in a while when someone opened the door leading to the lawyer offices. Finally, a man opened the door and called out, "Mr. Cook, Mr. Reddick is ready to hear your case."

Blaise stood up and followed the man who looked like he could be anywhere from seventeen to twenty-five. He figured he must be Mulciber. After a short walk, Mulciber opened a door labeled 'Cooper Reddick' and stepped in. "Sir, your eleven o'clock is here."

A large, blond man looked up from his pile of paperwork. "John Cook?" Reddick asked and Blaise nodded. "Please take a seat. Jacob, would you bring these files over to Larson's office while I talk to Mr. Cook here?" He passed a stack of papers to Mulciber who exited the office. Blaise's lips turned down as he watched his target leave the room.

"How can I help you today, Mr. Cook?" Reddick asked drawing Blaise's attention back to him. Blaise cleared his throat and broke into a fabricated story about an inheritance his grandfather left behind that he felt he had the rights to. Reddick listened attentively through the tale. "Did your grandfather leave a will?" He questioned once Blaise finished speaking.

"Yes. His will designated my sister as his sole beneficiary, but as I said, I was always closest to him. He intended for me to inherit his fortune. I know it."

Blaise could almost see Reddick straining from rolling his eyes. "Mr. Cook, a will is legally and magically binding. There's nothing I can do in your case."

"I understand. Thank you for your time." Blaise stood up abruptly, causing Reddick's eyes to widen in surprise. Blaise doubted that people making as unreasonable request as he'd just done tended to give up so easily.

With no knowledge of where Mulciber ended up, Blaise made his way to the bathroom. He casted a transparency charm on the door, so he could see through it, but no one else could. After too long of a wait and another swig of polyjuice, Blaise saw Mulciber make his way down the hall. Quickly, Blaise hurried out the door and made sure to bump into Mulciber, purposely causing the hypno potion to spill on him in the process.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going," Blaise apologized.

Mulciber blinked stupidly as the potions affects took hold putting him in a dreamlike trance in which he was more susceptible to suggestion. "Not looking where you were going, yes."

"Perhaps you should clean up your robes in the bathroom," Blaise suggested.

"Er, yes," Mulciber agreed absently and entered the bathroom with Blaise followingly behind. In the bathroom, Mulciber stared in confusion between the sink and the stain on his robe.

Blaise decided to cut to the chase. "Do you know Arche Rosier?"

"He's an old schoolmate," Mulciber muttered as he dabbed a wet paper towel on his hands, unwittingly putting his hands into contact with more of the potion.

"Have you two ever done anything that could get Rosier expelled?" Blaise asked.

"Yes."

"What?" Blaise pressed.

"We stole schoolbooks from a first year mudblood. We made Adam Johnson drink veritaserum."

Blaise folded his arms. He'd been hoping for something more. Neither crime would be easy to prove. "Has Rosier done anything on his own that would get him expelled?"

"He cheats on exams."

"How?"

"A couple of times I used polyjuice and took an exam in Rosier's place. In potions, he brings already completed potions into class and switches them into his cauldron when Slughorn's not paying attention." At the end of his explanation, Mulciber stared at the paper towel in his hand with scrunched brows. Realizing he didn't have much more time before the potion ran out, Blaise raised his secondhand wand vanishing the residual potion on Mulciber's robes.

"You should dispose of that paper towel." As Mulciber threw out the paper towel, Blaise took the opportunity to exit, not even bothering to use an obliviate. The best thing about the hypno potion was that the dreamlike trance made it so the victim didn't consciously remember the experience. If someone purposely looked for the memory, they'd find it, but they'd have to know about it first.

As Blaise went back to the atrium and apparated to Geddes' house, he couldn't help feeling let down. He'd hoped to get something more concrete to use against Rosier. All his careful planning and effort seemed for naught. He had to reconsider his options.


	14. Chapter 14

For the rest of his holidays, Blaise gave his attention to the project Geddes had given him. By the end of break, he'd managed to complete five of the eight required draughts. He hadn't yet found a proper replacement for flobberworm mucus nor what the other two ingredients were supposed to be. Geddes proved not to be much of a help, every once in a while smiling tauntingly when he saw Blaise brewing. The day before winter break ended, Blaise sat holed up in his room reading a book on potions ingredients.

"You're not going to find anything in that book," Geddes piped up from the doorway.

Blaise jumped a little in his seat at the unexpected noise but quickly composed himself, scowling at his own startled reaction. "What are you on about? How else will I learn what ingredients come after bobotuber pus alphabetically? Fascinating stuff, that," Blaise drawled.

"You're taking some things for granted," Geddes continued ignoring Blaise's comments. "I can already tell you're going to be mad at yourself when you figure it out. It'll be quite obvious in retrospect."

Blaise closed his book and set it on the desk beside him. "Did you make your way over here just to offer cryptic remarks?"

"The cryptic remarks are definitely a part of it," Geddes admitted easily. "Or as I like to call them, hints."

Blaise peered at the man curiously. "What part of that was supposed to be a hint?"

"All of it. You should really be more thankful. When I did this project, I wasn't given any hints."

"Of course. I thank you very kindly," Blaise said drily. He tapped the arm of his chair in consideration. "So this project is commonly given to prospective unspeakables."

"It's actually more common than that. It's a test given to prospective potioneers, inventors, and researchers of magic," Geddes corrected. "Though it's usually only given to people with years of experience in one of those fields. That's why I expect you to fail. When most people take this test, it's to test their knowledge. When I gave you the test, it was because I want to test your aptitude for analysis and experimentation."

"Then it is doable," Blaise concluded.

Geddes raised his brows. "You still doubted so?"  
"Perhaps," Blaise said with a shrug. "So the ingredients I'm missing are ones I'm taking for granted?"

"One of them is," Geddes affirmed. "And I'm not giving anymore hints."

Geddes left, leaving Blaise to ponder over what he'd supposedly taken for granted. He tried to think what someone completely unfamiliar with potions would notice that he didn't. Blaise shook his head, finding that area of thought futile. He doubted a child or Neville Longbottom could notice something that he had failed to. _Or a muggle, for that matter,_ Blaise thought wryly. He decided to postpone the project for the night. As he started to get ready to sleep, his last thought niggled in his mind as if he knew he almost caught onto something. Only when he laid down in his bed to sleep did it click. The ingredient he took for granted was magic. Neither a muggle nor a squib could make a working potion even if they mimicked the recipes used by wizards. Magic was so prevalent in Blaise's life since birth that it hadn't even occurred to him to consider the absence of magic. Feeling embarrassed over missing the obvious- and annoyed that Geddes had just predicted this reaction- Blaise fell asleep attempting to think up a replacement for magic.

At the time Blaise boarded the Hogwarts Express, few other students had boarded as well. He chose a compartment near the back and hoped no one annoying would choose to share his compartment. As time passed, students would occasionally peek into his apartment briefly before leaving to presumably find their friends or an empty compartment. His luck ended when Black peeked in, paused, and then took the seat across from Blaise.

"Good morning. How was your vacation?" she asked upon settling down.

"Very well. And yours?" Blaise returned politely.

"It was lov-" Black cut herself off with a grimace. "Actually, in all honesty, it was misery."

"I'm very sorry to hear that," Blaise said opting not to ask why Black's vacation had been so bad. He didn't particularly feel up to feigning interest. After frowning thoughtfully at Blaise, Black turned her gaze to the window. Deciding he had nothing better to do, Blaise changed his mind. "What happened?"

Black twitched in surprise and brought her curious stare back to Blaise. She opened her mouth to answer but was interrupted by the compartment door opening again. Lestrange popped into the compartment with a grin. "Hello," he greeted cheerily sitting beside Black. "I hope you two weren't hoping for a private compartment.

"Oh, come off it, Corvus," Black said with a laugh. "I've told you already, there's nothing going on." She turned to Blaise. "I apologize. Corvus here thinks he's funnier than he is."

Blaise just stared back nonplussed. The two were acting friendly though - not too long ago - Lestrange had warned Blaise away from Black due to her sympathies towards muggleborns. There'd been clear enmity in his voice "Are you two friends?" he ended up asking.

Lestrange rolled his eyes at him. "I wonder if you even know what the Slytherin common room looks like with how little you spend in it. We have exploding snap tournaments every Wednesday night."

"Corvus and I are undefeated in doubles this year," Black added. Blaise leaned back in his seat feeling stunned. He truly knew nothing about his fellow Slytherins.

"How were your vacations?" Lestrange asked changing the subject.

"I was just telling Blaise," Black started. "It was quite eventful. Alphie and my aunt were at each other's throats the whole time."

"Alphard was back home? I thought he was still in Germany?" Lestrange exclaimed.

"He hasn't been in Germany in ages. He's been in Finland for the last couple of months. He came back home for Christmas, I think because Aunt Irma threatened to hunt him down if he didn't." Deciding he no longer was expected to contribute to the conversation, Blaise unfolded the _Daily Prophet_ to read. Lately, he tried to keep up with current events.

"He could have at least told me he was back home," Lestrange complained. "I haven't even received an owl from him since he left."

"I wouldn't take it personally. He's hardly sent an owl to Walburga, and you know how much he adores her." Black sounded upset by her own words.

"How long is he going to stay abroad?"

"That was the topic of one many arguments between him and his mother. Alphie says that he's going to Asia now. Apparently, there's still so much of the world he needs to see."

"I don't understand that," Lestrange said as Blaise read over an article about Grindelwald's growing influence in Europe. "He never even spoke of wanting to travel until he left."

"Well, that's Alphie for you. Sometimes an idea just pops into his head, and he goes with it."

"Yes, I know. Last year, he decided the Quidditch team needed some practice without their brooms. Avery complained about it more than enough times. I even once saw Marsic running around the pitch jumping at the snitch."

Black giggled. "I'd almost forgotten about that one. Alphie claimed that practicing on the ground helped his chasers focus more on their throwing technique. He made Marsic practice on the ground too just so he could have a laugh."

Lestrange laughed boisterously. "I do miss the lad."

Black sighed. "I do too," she agreed sadly.

The two quieted down after that, and Blaise relaxed in the ensuing silence. The silence didn't last long enough. "Are you voting in the upcoming election, Marsden?" Lestrange asked breaking the peace.

Blaise deigned to lower his paper and give Lestrange his attention. "No. I don't have any interest in politics." Besides, he already knew who won the election.

"You should. If Moon gets reelected, soon muggles will be running the place," Lestrange said.

"Unbelievable!" Black exclaimed angrily, her cheeks flushing a bit red. "How come anytime we get along for more than two seconds you have to bring up politics? You know it's inevitable that we get into an argument."

"I'm just trying to educate you," Lestrange explained patiently. "I still believe you can see reason."

"I'm not the one that needs to be educated if you think Minister Moon is championing muggles," Black said haughtily. "He's the one that proposed banning parents of muggleborns from entering platform nine and three-quarters."

"He also constantly works with that muggle prime minister on wizarding problems. As if muggles could in any way help against Grindelwald. Revell won't wasted time coordinating with muggles."

"Revell," Black spat out the name like it tasted particularly nasty. "wants muggleborns to either abandon their families or give up on magic altogether."

"What's wrong with that?" Lestrange asked, genuine confusion spreading over his face. "It's their decision then."

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, Black leveled a stern gaze at Lestrange. "That's not really much of a decision, is it? Would you be able to choose between your family and your magic?"

"No, but then my family aren't muggles." Lestrange turned to Blaise. "Any thoughts?"

Blaise tapped the seat cushion beside him trying to think of the best response, but Black saved him from having to answer. "Don't seek out help," Black told Lestrange. "You're the one that started the argument."

"We've reached Hogwarts," Blaise interrupted hoping to stave off more of the argument.

Black glanced out of the window and then stood up. "I hope you understand if I seek out a different chariot then you. Until Lestrange learns a bit of empathy, I'd like to take a break from him." With those parting words, Black marched out of the compartment.

As soon as she left, Lestrange looked pointedly at Blaise. "I told you she has strange ideas. Bloody more concerned with mudbloods than real wizards."

"Yes, you did warn me," Blaise agreed. He stood up and exited the compartment, Lestrange following behind him.

With a sense of trepidation, Blaise made his way to the dorm where he'd have to see Rosier and Riddle again. As soon as Riddle's dark eyes settled on him, Blaise felt all the relaxation from break seep out of him. He was back to having to act carefully in every interaction. The proper greetings between dorm mates were made and then Blaise was free to go to bed.


	15. Chapter 15

Blaise slipped into the routine he picked up since falling back through time; avoiding his dorm room as much as possible. Over the holidays, Rosier seemed to have gotten over some of his resentment towards Blaise. He stopped attempting to hex Blaise though he still threw insults Blaise's way often. Either he was done with the worst of his antagonizations or was biding his time for something worse. Blaise figured out it was the latter while heading back from the library one night.

"Another late night?" Rosier asked stepping up to walk alongside Blaise.

"I'm shocked you've chosen to confront me privately for once. If you try to attack me, I have no reason not to retaliate in full force," Blaise threatened keeping his hand close to his wand and his eye on Rosier. He was tempted to curse the boy anyways, but he needed a more permanent solution before angering Rosier more.

"I doubt Riddle would approve of you hexing me," Rosier said knowingly.

Confused, Blaise gave Rosier a sidelong glance. "Why should I care if Riddle approves?"

Rosier smirked. "There's plenty of reasons why you should, but what really matters is that you already do care. The whole dorm has noticed that you never disagree with Tom, that you've been strangely accommodating towards him since you've arrived. I wonder why that is."

Clenching his jaw, Blaise continued a brisk walk. He should have known his behavior would catch the others' attention. He had been too caught up in the fact that he interacted with the future Voldemort that he'd not thought of what perception others would have. "You're delusional," Blaise said out loud to Rosier who laughed.

"I don't think so. You easily dismiss Avery, Corvus, and I, but not Tom. I think I know why too."

Blaise sincerely doubted that. Whatever explanation Rosier had concocted couldn't possibly even brush upon the truth. "Feel free to enlighten me. Tell me what nonsense you've invented this time," Blaise implored.

"I think it's because you realize how powerful he is, and you know that a half-breed wizard like you could never hope to be equal to him," Rosier sneered.

"Half-breed wizard? What are you on about?" Blaise asked unconcernedly.

"I'm talking about your filthy mudblood father," Rosier hissed viciously. Blaise nearly stopped in his tracks not understanding what Rosier meant for a second. He'd nearly forgotten Geddes had made him a halfblood despite his heavy protests, and now, Rosier had somehow found out. At least he could let Geddes know that Blaise's reservations were not unfounded after all.

"That's right," Rosier continued. "I know your secret. I had a friend in the ministry look into your family. Imagine my surprise when I learned that one of my dorm mates is a filthy half-breed."

Sighing, Blaise abruptly spun to face Rosier causing the boy to narrowly avoid stumbling into him. "You're using that term incorrectly," Blaise lectured as Rosier hastily took a step back. "A half-breed is the progeny of two different species."

Rosier's lip curled. "Muggles might as well be a different species. They certainly aren't anything like us. You're filthy grandparents probably took part in witch burnings."

"Unlikely. There haven't been any witch burnings for more than two centuries as any first year would know," Blaise said coolly. "Did you have anything else to add to this needless conversation or are we finished here?"

Rosier stepped closer to Blaise who casually moved his hand closer to his wand. "How dare you still act so arrogant in the presence of your superior, half-breed."

"Let me clear up this misconception you have, Rosier," Blaise sneered. "You are in no way my superior. I could actually be a muggle, and still, I wouldn't be as pathetic as you."

An ugly look crossed Rosier's face. He whipped out his wand with a shout of, "Stupefy!" Having expected this, Blaise easily shielded himself. The two stood staring at each other waiting for the other to make the next move. "What do you think, Marsden? Should I tell the others what you are? I doubt they'd like you so much if they knew. Maybe you should start respecting me."

"Is this your desperate attempt at blackmail?" Blaise asked tightening his grip on his wand.

"You fancy yourself clever, do you not? Maybe you should figure it out for yourself."

Still pointing his wand at Rosier, Blaise nodded to himself. Rosier tattling to their dorm mates might actually work in Blaise's favor. Perhaps if they thought Blaise of impure blood, they wouldn't want to associate with him anymore. Blaise could do without their attempts at friendship. Either way, he didn't have a choice. Giving in to blackmail was never a good idea. "Alright then. Share your information with everyone if it pleases you."

Rosier's wand hand twitched. "I will. Right after I teach you a lesson about your place. Confringo!"

Blaise deftly blocked the curse sending an expelliarmus back on the tail end of his shield charm. "Someone's bound to hear us if we continue this," Blaise called as Rosier put up a shield charm of his own. Blaise had no desire to serve detention for dueling after hours.

In response, Rosier blasted an unfamiliar curse at Blaise who had to dive out of the way to avoid it. Blaise cast two quick spells in succession, but Rosier deflected both back towards Blaise. Dropping below the spells, Blaise casted a tripping jinx. The jinx caught Rosier, but he still managed to fling an accurate stunning spell as he stumbled forward. Quickly, Blaise shielded himself again. He took advantage of Rosier's recovery to cast two more spells in his direction. The first spell hit Rosier's shield. The second one flew passed Rosier hitting one of the tapestries.

Blaise advanced on Rosier with a barrage of weak hexes forcing Rosier to stay on the defensive. Once close enough to Rosier, he shoved him closer to the tapestry he'd spelled. With wide eyes, Rosier staggered backwards. The tapestry wrapped around Rosier's waist and tightened to hold him. "Did your father teach you muggle fighting?" Rosier taunted as he launched a curse at Blaise. Ignoring the taunt, Blaise lazily blocked the curse.

"What is going on here?" a stern voice boomed out as Blaise prepared his next attack. Rosier cast a quick diffindo to release himself from the tapestry and stowed his wand. Likewise, Blaise stashed his own wand and turned towards the source of the voice. The DADA teacher, Professor Merrythought, stood with a furious look on her face.

"Professor, I'm glad you're here. Marsden attacked me, I think out of jealousy," Rosier accused.

"I assure you, nothing is farther from the truth," Blaise informed Merrythought.

Merrythought disregarded both boys' words. "Not only were the two of you fighting in the halls, but you're both out after curfew. This behavior is completely unacceptable. Sixty points from Slytherin, and you will both serve detention for a week. Now, I'll escort you back to your common room since I'm sure I can't trust the two of you not to return to your fight."

As Rosier and Blaise followed behind Merrythought, Blaise's already boiling rage towards Rosier grew. He'd tried to blackmail him, and then he pulled Blaise into a pointless duel that landed him in detention. The more time Blaise spent around him, the worse Rosier got. He needed to find a way to deal with him sooner rather than later.

Once in the Slytherin common room, Rosier sent Blaise a scathing glare before stomping up to the dormitory. Blaise waited a few seconds then followed behind. By the time he entered the dorms, Roseier's curtains were already drawn. Blaise slipped behind his own curtains ready for the end of the day.

The next day, Blaise skipped his morning class to have a chance at investigating Rosier's belongings for anything that could help get rid of him. Once he knew the other boys were in class, Blaise left his bed area. As he approached Rosier's trunk, he pulled out his wand to cast a spell detector. Rosier had few protections on his trunk making it easy for Blaise to remove them all. In Blaise's opinion, Rosier's lack of protection was an oversight for someone as contentious as Rosier. He should show more caution if he chose to regularly provoke others.

For the most part, Rosier's trunk contained little of interest. Typical school supplies like robes, extra ink, and textbooks filled the majority of the space. Blaise dug further into the trunk and found a case buried in the robes. The case held various vials full of a diverse selection of potions. Blaise closely examined a vial he determined to hold an energizing elixir. The vials were likely a stash Rosier kept on hand if what Mulciber said about Rosier's cheating habits were to be believed.

Blaise closed up the trunk and sat on the top of it in thought. He could come up with a plan to expose Rosier's cheating, but that ran the risk of resulting in a lighter punishment than expulsion. Another problem was that Blaise had to count on Rosier needing to cheat on the upcoming potions exam. From what Blaise could tell, Rosier had an average ability in potions which meant he might not find cheating a necessary risk for every test. Blaise eventually decided he'd rather prepare for the possibility than miss out on the chance.

Going back to his own trunk, Blaise grabbed an empty vial. He brought his vial back over to Rosier's trunk. Again, he dug into the trunk and pulled out the case of potion vials. He laid out all the vials and carefully casted a protean charm to link his vial with all of Rosier's vials. Once he completed the charm, he put Rosier's trunk back exactly as he found it, insufficient protective charms and all.

Blaise spent the rest of the class period poking at a sleeping draught then made his way to charms for second period. He'd gone early, so he was the first one to arrive. He watched as his classmates slowly filled up the classroom. When Lestrange entered the room, Blaise fully expected him to sit beside Blaise as he had done for the past month and a half. Instead, Lestranges gaze swept passed Blaise as if he didn't exist, and he sat beside a Slytherin girl. Blaise understood right away. Rosier had followed through with his threat and told the other boys about Blaise's supposed father.

It turned out that his dorm mates weren't the only ones that heard about Blaise's father. Either from Rosier or from one of the other boys, the rumor had spread to the bulk of Slytherin house. Blaise only found out such in the library.

"Are you alright?" Black asked only about ten minutes after she joined him at the table.

Perplexed, Blaise met Black's concerned gaze. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Black worried at her lip. "I only mean… Some of our other housemates can be quite insensitive. I thought with the rumor going around things might be a little uncomfortable for you."

Blaise narrowed his eyes as he realized what Black referred to. "No one has bothered me so far."

"That's good." Black hesitated and then continued. "I apologize in advance if I offend, but is it true? Is your father really muggleborn?"  
"It's true," Blaise lied feeling weary. He could have denied it. Only, he assumed the denial would only ring false to others' ears.

"Oh." Black stayed silent for a bit. "What was that like?"

"What was what like?" Blaise asked having lost track of the conversation.

"Having a muggleborn father."

Blaise stared back blankly. He didn't even know what it was like to have a father let alone a muggleborn one. "Black, I don't wish to talk about this."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked such a question," Black said contritely. She dropped all attempts at conversation.


	16. Chapter 16

When Blaise attended his first detention, he was pleased to learn that Rosier had detention elsewhere. Blaise didn't think the two of them could last a whole week of detentions together. Apparently, Professor Merrythought was wise enough to agree and plan separate detentions. Blaise didn't know which professor Rosier served detention with, but Blaise ended up with Merrythought. Also in Blaise's favor was that Merrythought didn't get creative in her punishment. Blaise only had to grade first years' papers which - although boring - failed to wear on him either physically or mentally. Still, as he walked back to his dorm, Blaise lamented the waste of time.

Rosier's revelation resulted in little trouble for Blaise. Due to his constant avoidance of his housemates, Blaise didn't have to face anything worse than a few jeers and dirty looks. Even Lestrange only resorted to ignoring Blaise's existence. Neither Avery nor Riddle acknowledged the rumors at all. Blaise found himself wondering about Riddle's thoughts on the situation. After the war, the _Prophet_ had divulged a fairly thorough account of Voldemort's life including a look into his genealogy. As such, Blaise knew Riddle had a muggle father. Blaise didn't put it passed Riddle to be a bit of a hypocrite, but he also knew that Voldemort accepted halfbloods into his ranks. Clearly, Voldemort didn't care about blood status to that extent even if he led his followers to believe so. Blaise supposed his own newfound blood status could provide a buffer between him and Riddle's group if Riddle didn't want any protests.

In terms of Black, she didn't bring up Blaise's father again but fell into the habit of giving fleeting curious glances at Blaise every once in a while. Black's curiosity didn't affect Blaise too much as he started to spend less time in the library.

In Blaise's fifth year, Blaise chose not to take part in the Inquisitorial Squad unlike many of his housemates. As a result, he didn't hear of the Room of Requirements until his seventh year. Desperate to get inside the room and drag out the rebelling students, the Carrows had enlisted the help of students. Many times, Blaise paced back and forth in front of the blank wall half-heartedly trying out phrases to get into the room.

Having never actually made it into the room, Blaise wasn't entirely confident on making it inside as he paced outside the room once again. He silently asked the room for a private area to brew a potion as he walked. On the third time, the door appeared. Blaise allowed himself little time to stare at the door in awe before hurrying inside. Inside the room, there was a full potions setup with multiple size cauldrons, flask, and vials. Beside the cauldron sat a table with knives.

To see if the room really worked as advertised, Blaise thought of changing the material of the table. He walked up to the table and watched as the table changed from metal to wood. Deciding this needed further experimentation, Blaise silently asked the room for prime rib. As he expected, the room did not provide him with what he wanted in that situation. Expecting his next experiment to similarly fail, Blaise requested an extra set of robes. When a neatly folded set of robes appeared on the table, Blaise almost gaped in shock at the unexpected outcome. He stepped up to the robes turning them about, trying to find out what material they were made from.

It was taught that there were five principle exceptions to Gamp's Law, but that was just the simplified way to explain to the average person. In reality, three of the exceptions -living creatures, food, and clothes- could be combined into the same exception, natural organic compounds. Splitting the one exception into the three different categories made it more obvious what everyday items a wizard knows he can't summon out of nothing. In order for researchers to properly understand exactly what wasn't included in Gamp's Law, they used the term "natural organic compounds" instead. In research, the categories of clothes and food were tantamount to useless when it came down to putting the rules into action. A person could wear clothes made out of metal if they chose, and those clothes would be perfectly summonable. Not to mention, food was too vague of a term to work off of. Different people considered different objects either edible or inedible. One wizard might consider celery root a food but seaweed not. Another might consider the opposite, but neither celery root nor seaweed could be summoned.

As someone that knew of the true exceptions to Gamp's Law, Blaise thought the appearance of the robes could be explained if they were made out of some unusual material. He knew muggles sometimes used types of plastics for clothes. Contrary to his expectations, the robes were cotton. Blaise wondered whether the room had summoned the robes from some nearby supply and, if so, what else the room could summon. Looking back to an empty part of the table, Blaise tried to get the room to bring him some potions ingredients. Nothing happened. Blaise felt distinctly disappointed. It would have been rather convenient if the room could provide him with the necessary potion ingredients. Instead, he'd have to either place some orders or sneak out to Diagon Alley to purchase some.

The last night of Blaise's detentions, Rosier fell in step beside him soon after he left Merrythought's classroom. "Are you enjoying detention so much that you're looking to receive more?" Blaise asked as he pulled out his wand.

Rosier quickly reacted in kind pulling out his own wand. "I just came here to talk. You're the one that pulled your wand out."

Blaise continued walking silently, keeping his eye on Rosier. When Rosier failed to say anything, he sighed. "If you're here to talk then talk. Get it over with. I'd rather not be in your presence more than necessary."

"Keep your mouth shut, Marsden." Rosier smirked at Blaise. "What's it like in Slytherin now that you can no longer hide what you are? I noticed that Corvus is no longer friendly with you."

"If you came here solely to taunt me, you're wasting your time," Blaise dismissed. "I don't hold your words in any esteem."

"What if I ask you about the cruciatus curse? That always seems to rile you up," Rosier suggested smugly.

The fingers on Blaise's wand started to ache from the pressure he gripped his wand with. If he knew he could get away with cursing Rosier, he would. "Careful. You didn't fare too well the last time that came up."

"Why are you so afraid of the curse that even the word, 'crucio', makes you flinch? It's pathetic really," Rosier sneered.

Blaise came to a complete halt, and Rosier followed suit with an inquisitive look. "Do you really want to know?" Blaise asked quietly, threateningly.

Rosier rolled his eyes. "I didn't ask for no reason."

Stepping closer to Rosier so that his wand was almost touching him, Blaise spoke almost in a whisper. "It's because I'm remembering the screams of every person I cast the curse on."

Rosier stumbled backwards with wide eyes staring dubiously back at Blaise. "You're lying," he accused though he sounded unsure. Blaise just shrugged back at Rosier and put his wand away still keeping a hand on it. "You're just trying to act tougher than you are." Blaise chose to stay silent, and Rosier's jaw twitched in annoyance. "Watch your back, Marsden. You'll need to now more than ever."

Blaise watched with anger as Rosier hurried off through the corridor. Feeling shaken and simmering with rage from the encounter, Blaise continued his walk back to Slytherin. He had never detested anyone as much as he did Rosier.

During the potions test, Blaise kept his eye on Rosier as he readied his own strength elixir. Rosier didn't seem to struggle much with the potion much to Blaise's disappointment. He would enjoy having a while without having to see Rosier. He resigned himself to an uneventful potions test when Riddle summoned Slughorn over to him.

"Oh ho, I know even you can't be done yet, Tom," Slughorn boomed from in front of Riddle's desk.

"Of course not, sir. I'm in the process of stewing my hellebore root. I just had a question while I wait."

"Ask away, m'boy," Slughorn implored pleasantly.

"Is it true that you're good friends with Tavious Bernard?" Riddle asked.

"Now, Tom, I don't think you should ask any questions not pertaining to potions during class. That being said, I think saying that Tavious trusts me to brew his pepperup potions is right on topic." From his seat, Blaise could see Slughorn give Riddle a wink.

"In the interest of potions then, is it true that Bernard is commissioning research into a way to achieve true metamorphagy?" Blaise couldn't see Riddle's expression from where he sat, but he assumed Riddle had a charming smile plastered on his face.

As Slughorn answered, Blaise watched Rosier briefly reach into his robes. Blaise reacted quickly, pointing his wand at the vial he'd purposely left at the top of his open bag. Casting a simple slippery jinx on the vial, Blaise watched as Rosier fumbled with the vial in his hand and let it slip from his fingers. The resulting clatter as the vial fell on the floor turned Slughorn from his conversation with Riddle. Rosier snatched up the vial, hiding the contents by wrapping his hand around it.

"Careful you don't go breaking anything, Arche," Slughorn advised pleasantly. He glanced at the class provided vial still on the table and then back at Rosier's hand holding the vial. His tone became less pleasant. "Would you show me what you're holding?"

At that moment, Riddle turned towards Rosier so that Blaise could see the side of his face. Riddle looked absolutely furious as Slughorn coaxed the vial from Rosier's hand. In complete silence, Slughorn headed back to his desk stashing the vial into his drawer. "You will see me after class, Mr. Rosier," he said once he was done.

A half hour later, Blaise exited the potions classroom almost wishing he could stay to see if Rosier received a sufficient punishment. As it were, he made his way to the Room of Requirements not knowing yet if his efforts had any useful result. Once in the Room of Requirements, Blaise took out the ingredients he'd gotten from mail order. At least, he could start on the potion before the rarer ingredients showed up. He dumped the flobberworm mucus into the cauldron and heated it up.

A proper petrification potion needed lethal ingredients, but the potion itself shouldn't be lethal. Thickening the potion with flobberworm mucus made digestion slower, giving the body enough time to protect itself from death. The trick was to keep the potion effective while also making sure it wasn't deadly. Except, the potion Blaise planned to make wasn't for digestion. Instead, he needed a thicker potion to cling better to an object.


	17. Chapter 17

Much to Blaise's satisfaction, Rosier was notably absent from classes the day following the potions test. Blaise felt a little lighter as he went through the day until he got back to the dorm to see Avery, Lestrange, and Riddle engrossed in a seemingly serious conversation. As soon as Blaise entered the room, three pairs of eyes swung towards him, and the conversation ceased.

"Marsden," Riddle greeted with a slight nod of the head. "Lestrange wishes to air a grievance with you." By the way Lestrange had immediately returned to ignoring Blaise's existence right after his initial reaction to Blaise's entrance, Blaise doubted the veracity of Riddle's words.

"Concerning what?" Blaise directed his inquiry towards Riddle since he insisted on speaking for Lestrange.

Riddle turned a steady gaze towards Lestrange who reluctantly faced Blaise. "I don't appreciate being lied to about your parentage," Lestrange gritted out.

Blaise studied Lestrange over, unsure of how he was expected to respond to that. "I don't believe I ever divulged my blood status to you, false or otherwise."

Lestrange looked over to Riddle somewhat pleadingly, but Riddle only stared back unhelpfully. With an annoyed twitch, Lestrange pulled his focus back to Blaise. "You should have told us."

Again, Blaise didn't know how to respond. He almost didn't care. If Lestrange was going to dislike him for his fake father, there wasn't much he could do. As long as Lestrange didn't start trouble like Rosier had, his dislike didn't concern him. "No, I shouldn't have. It was none of your business what my father was."

"Of course it's my business," Lestrange hissed. "We were supposed to be friends."

Blaise scrutinized Lestrange dubiously. Did he really think they were friends? Blaise supposed his own threshold for friendship was much higher than most people. He and Lestrange did sit together in classes. Some people might consider that a friendship. "If my father bothers you so much then we never could have been friends," Blaise pointed out. Not that he would ever be friends with Lestrange anyways, but he figured it best not to reveal that.

Riddle spoke up on Lestrange's behalf. "I think only your untruthfulness bothers Lestrange. You can't be held responsible for who your father is."

"Exactly," Avery jumped in for the first time since Blaise had arrived. "You seem like the right sort, Marsden. You properly appreciate wizarding society unlike many others of lesser blood."

"Avery," Riddle admonished sharply. Avery scrunched his face in confusion, evidently not understanding what he'd said wrong.

"Lesser blood," Blaise repeated mulling over the phrase. He hadn't ever had the phrase applied to himself in his own time, and he didn't appreciate the change. Before, he never put much thought into the concept. As a pureblood, he was only ever affected positively by the biases concerning blood status. Even though he was still technically a pureblood, he recognized that it only mattered how others perceived him. He supposed he now had a reason to care about the discrimination halfbloods faced.

"I didn't mean anything by it," Avery muttered having caught on to what he said wrong. "It's not like you're a mudblood."

"You don't need to justify yourself to me," Blaise assured since he was sure any more explanation would make the conversation worse.

"No, he doesn't," Lestrange agreed.

Blaise started towards his bed. "Well, if everything is settled then-"

"It's not," Lestrange cut in. "Tom and Avery may be convinced that you're the right sort, but I don't feel as sure. I'm not ready to forgive your deception so easily."

"Oh honestly, Corvus, must you be so dramatic? I think we have bigger concerns right now." Avery gestured towards Rosier's empty bed.

Riddle waved a dismissive hand at Avery. "We'll continue that discussion later."

"Where is Rosier?" Blaise asked unable to hold back his curiosity. He need to know the severity of Rosier's punishment, to know if his efforts were in vain.

Riddle's eyes roved over Blaise's face searchingly. "He's currently suspended and facing expulsion. He has an appeal in two weeks, and if all goes well, he'll be back at school in a month." Blaise nodded curtly.

"You must be pleased," Lestrange said calmly. "I was starting to think you and Arche were going to put each other in the hospital wing. It's rather convenient for you that he's gone now."

Blaise kept his face composed. It sounded like an accusation, but no one could reasonably suspect him when Rosier had dropped his vial. "It is convenient. I'm not going to pretend to be disappointed in his absence."

"Enough," Riddle said. "I know you and Arche had your differences, Marsden. No one is asking you to miss him. He did divulge your blood status to your peers, so I understand why you took issue with him. Although, for both of your sakes, I do hope the two of you learn to get along when he comes back from suspension."

Blaise couldn't help the small laugh that escaped him at the thought of ever getting along with Rosier. "I have to agree with Marsden's laugh," Avery said. "Arche would never want to get along with Marsden." He looked apologetically at Blaise and added, "No offense."

"In the case of Rosier, I shall take it as a compliment," Blaise said.

"Well, I believe that the two of you can set aside your differences," Riddle assured. "I would hate for any petty disagreements to ruin the rest of our year. And as Head Boy, I feel it is my duty to personally mediate any conflicts." Riddle's words sounded vaguely threatening to Blaise's ears. He couldn't tell if that was from his own bias of knowing Riddle's future, or if Riddle actually had hidden malice in his words.

The days that followed Rosier's absence were less peaceful than Blaise would have hoped. Something about either their latest conversation or Rosier's suspension had renewed Riddle's attempts at pulling Blaise into the group. Blaise found it increasingly hard to refuse any invitations as he didn't want the group to think he avoided them due to their beliefs on blood status. As a result, Blaise wandered the halls with his dorm mates one free afternoon rather than working on his potion in the room of requirements.

For this particular expulsion, Nott joined them looking just as pleased as he had during their trip to Diagon Alley. Like that time, Riddle led the way. He swiftly walked through the castle with a clear purpose not bothering to check if the others followed. When he reached his destination -a statue of a goblin with a crack running down the side of it- Riddle tapped the tip of the goblin's ear with his wand presumably casting a nonverbal spell. As Riddle stepped back, the goblin started to move stiffly. The statue crooked a hand around to the wall, traced out the shape of a door, and then returned to its original position, lifeless once more.

"I never knew this was here," Nott said in awe. Blaise resisted the urge to scoff at him. If everyone knew where the secret passages were then they wouldn't be secret.

"Yes, you wouldn't have," Riddle said. Without further ado, he pushed the door open and walked through. Blaise watched as the others followed after. With reluctance, he too walked through the doorway into a large mostly empty room. The only furniture in the room were nine chairs in a semicircle. Riddle took the center seat with Lestrange and Avery on either side of him. He gestured for Nott and Blaise to sit too. Nott chose the seat by Avery leaving Blaise with the seat beside Lestrange.

"This is far too many chairs for musical chairs," Blaise muttered sarcastically. He felt annoyed at getting pulled away from his own activities for what seemed to be a meeting called for the sole purpose of Riddle's own self-importance.

Riddle looked at Blaise with slightly upturned lips as if in amusement. "They're also not in a circle," he added. "I assure you, I did not bring you here to play games. Nott has a dilemma, and I believe we can help him. Nott, would you like to share what happened with Johnson?"

"Er-" Nott looked at Blaise dubiously and then back to Riddle. "Is he really a friend of yours? I've heard rumors…"

Exasperated, Blaise reached into his bag and grabbed an advanced magical theory book. If they were going to talk like he wasn't there, he could at least search for a way to replace magic in a potion.

"Do you fall for every rumor, Nott?" Riddle asked coldly.

"No, but-" Nott's gaze flickered back over to Blaise.

"Marsden is a friend of ours. That should be enough to vouch for him." Riddle paused then spoke again in an annoyed voice. "Marsden, put the book away. I know you don't have any tests soon, and with how often you're in the library, you must have finished any homework."

Automatically, Blaise shut his book and bent to put it back in his bag. He mentally cursed himself as he sat back up. Since Rosier pointed out his behavior towards Riddle, Blaise resolved to stop deferring to Riddle so often. He found it a hard habit to break.

"Alright. Tell us your problem then, Nicholas," Avery urged in the silence.

With one last uncertain look at Blaise, Nott complied with the request. "You all know what Johnson is like," Nott stated garnering nods from Riddle, Avery, and Lestrange. Blaise did not know but he felt sure Nott wasn't addressing Blaise as he spoke. "She's been on my case ever since her cousin and I got into a duel. She keeps trying to give me detention and making up rumors about my family."

As Nott continued listing Johnson's offenses, Blaise got the impression that Nott was unliked by the majority of the school. His inclusion into the group started to make a lot of sense to Blaise. Riddle saw the potential to bring in a new follower by giving Nott friends and a place to belong. Nott would appreciate the companionship and the benefits that came with his new place in the group. It also helped that Nott had a tendency towards blood purity if his recent disdain for Blaise was any indication.

"I think it will be quite easy to convince Johnson to leave you alone," Riddle assured. "I schedule prefect rounds, so I know a time and a place we can talk to her alone. We'll confront her tomorrow night." The other boys made their agreements known while Blaise stayed silent. This sounded like an exploit he'd rather avoid.


	18. Chapter 18

Blaise started to get desperate with his sleeping draughts. He'd managed to supplant the flobberworm mucus by fiddling with the ratios of the other ingredients. To make a functional sleeping draught without magic didn't have such a simple solution. Without the enhancement provided by magic, the ingredients had limited power- certainly not enough to replicate a typical sleeping draught. Blaise's research into magical theory and squib made potion books proved unhelpful. Closing his most recent magical theory book with an annoyed huff, Blaise reached for another book on the table.

"What are you working so intensely on?" Black asked from her seat across the table. Blaise had almost forgotten she was there.

"Potions," Blaise answered tersely.

"Potions is actually my best subject. I could help." Black smiled at Blaise encouragingly.

"I appreciate the offer, but I don't need help," Blaise denied stiffly.

Black pursed her lips and eyed Blaise. "Were you always this antisocial?" Blaise chose not to answer. "Ok. Fine. But you must get bored having no friends."  
Blaise raised his brows. "You have an awfully blunt way of speaking."

"Did I offend you?"

"No." Blaise didn't feel offended. He felt irritated. Black was clearly angling for a friend, not just a library partner, and Blaise had too much to do to make friends.

"Good." A short period of silence passed before Black spoke again. "Just try me. You're clearly getting frustrated with whatever you're working on."

Indeed frustrated, Blaise relented. "I'm attempting to brew a sleeping draught without magic."

Black frowned scrunching her brows together. "Without magic? I guess I never really thought about it, but I suppose muggles wouldn't be able to brew a potion, would they?"

"They wouldn't," Blaise confirmed.

"I never really thought about it," Black repeated. "Why do you want to brew a sleeping draught without magic? You're not trying to teach a relative, are you?"

Blaise shook his head. It hadn't occurred to him that Black could come to that conclusion. "I'm trying an experiment. Squibs have replicated a few minor potions with minimal success. I'm curious how many potions could be brewed without magic." In his foray into squib related material, Blaise found some potions made without magic, but nothing he looked into provided insight into how he could do the same with a sleeping draught.

"Well, I wish I could help you- especially since I coaxed you into telling me -but I've never heard of squib potions. You have some very strange hobbies."

Blaise made a noncommittal noise and reimmersed himself into his book. He hadn't expected Black to be of any help, but he still felt disappointed. If this was a fairly common test as Geddes had said, then the information had to be accessible.

Not too long after, Blaise exited the library. In a few steps, Riddle started walking step and step with him. "Everyone is waiting for you outside the common room."

Blaise looked at Riddle trying to think of a way out of the situation without gaining Riddle's ire. As if he knew about Blaise's doubts, Riddle spoke in a persuasive tone. "Have some fun for once, Marsden. I can see you're trying to find an excuse to slink off to bed instead."

"I believe neither Nott nor Lestrange desire my presence," Blaise said instead of the many other reservations he had with this plan.

"That's all the more reason you should join us. Right now, the two of them are uncertain about your alliances. If you stand by Nott now, they'll see that you're a friend. Even Corvus will look passed blood status for those that prove themselves. It's really up to you whether your housemates see you as friend or foe." There was nothing subtle or left up to interpretation from Riddle's threatening tone. Blaise felt more unnerved by Riddle's abandonment of subtlety than by the threat itself. Was Riddle going to stop holding back around him?

"I never said I wouldn't go," Blaise said trying to keep his voice level to not sound swayed by the threat.

Riddle smiled wickedly and clapped Blaise on the shoulder. "I knew I could count on you."

The other three boys were standing casually near the portrait as Riddle and Blaise approached the Slytherin common room. Nott gave Blaise a suspicious glance while Avery gave Blaise a brief nod in greeting. Lestrange didn't acknowledge Blaise in any way. "It's almost curfew. Let's go," Riddle said and once again led the group through the halls. This time, he stopped at a regular door to a classroom.

"Wait here. Stay out of sight until Prewett is gone," Riddle said to the group before opening the door and entering the room.

Blaise stared in confusion at the door wondering who Prewett was and what he had to do with their confrontation with Johnson. The four of them settled behind a secret door Avery led them to. About thirty seconds later, a gangly redheaded boy exited the room in a hurry. Once he disappeared from view, Avery pushed Lestrange out the door.

"I'll keep watch. You three go on in," Avery said as he pushed at Nott and Blaise. Wary, Blaise walked to the room with Lestrange and Nott.

As soon as the door opened, two heads swung to face the door- Riddle's and a tall black girl's. "Tsk, tsk," Riddle said, a smile playing on his lips. "More students out of bed after curfew. If only you were patrolling the halls like you were supposed to instead of engaging in illicit activities with Prewett." In this moment, Blaise realized that Riddle had known Johnson was meeting up with Prewett instead of doing her prefect rounds. He understood then how Riddle had known exactly where to find Johnson. Seemingly, this was a common occurrence for her and Riddle had found out some way.

"I-" Johnson started to speak and stopped, her expression befuddled. She frowned at the others. "What's going on here?"

"You know what's going on. You've failed to properly meet the standards of a prefect. As head boy, I really can't let such behavior slide." Riddle shook his head with mock regret. "And I also have to punish my friends for being out after curfew. It's a shame." Blaise felt himself shiver as he realized Riddle was playing with his victim and enjoying it more than he'd seen Riddle enjoy anything.

Johnson still looked lost by the situation. "Tom, why are you acting strangely?"

Beside Blaise, Lestrange snickered. "Yes, Tom. Why are you acting so strange? Aren't you just so polite, kind, and charming usually?"

Riddle smirked in Johnson's direction cruelly. She immediately shrank back starting to sense the danger. "True. I would consider it an utmost failure of mine if I were to act impolitely in any way."

"I'm- er- I'm going to continue my rounds." Johnson attempted to move towards the door, but Riddle smoothly placed himself between her and the door.

"Don't be so hasty. Perhaps none of us should be here, but we might as well take advantage of the opportunity. It came to my attention that you owe Nott an apology."

Johnson whipped a heated gaze towards Nott. "For what? He's the one going around calling people names all the time."

"You set my book bag on fire!" Nott accused angrily.

"You insulted my father!"

Riddle held up a hand to silence both. "No matter what words Nott said, you don't have the right to destroy his property. You really should take the higher road and apologize."

"I'm not apologizing to him," Johnson hissed.

Riddle took a step back and raised his arms helplessly. "Well, I really can't force you to, I suppose. You might as well continue on with your patrols. I'll set these three straight."

Johnson nodded stiffly and sidestepped Riddle to head towards the door again. Behind her back, Riddle cast a spell towards the door. As Johnson grabbed the doorknob and started to turn it, she let out a yelp of pain and snatched her hand back towards herself. Blood started to drip down her wrist.

Riddle rushed towards Johnson. "Let me see your hand," he said softly. Johnson hesitated only a moment before she held her hand out towards Riddle who examined it gently. However Riddle had been acting before, Johnson clearly still thought he was the charming boy she'd known him as. "Must be a sharp piece of metal jutting out from the door knob."

"Yes, I believe so," Johnson agreed.

"Here. I have a bottle of murtlap essence. It will heal a cut of that size." Riddle pulled out a small bottle filled with a yellow liquid and passed it to Johnson with a friendly smile.

Johnson took the bottle from Riddle returning a hesitant and relieved smile. She opened the bottle, poured a small amount onto her hand, and then gasped loudly dropping the bottle.

"Oops," Riddle said pleasantly as Johnson fell to her knees cradling her still bleeding hand to her chest. "I must have mixed up essence of bobotuber with murtlap essence. Such an easy mistake to make. The two are awfully similar."

Blaise shifted uncomfortably as Johnson started to tremble and whimper, but he stayed out of it. Anything he did now would only be temporary and get him on Riddle's bad side. He chanced a glance at Lestrange and Nott. Both looked pleased with this turn of events.

Riddle knelt beside Johnson and reached for her hand. Johnson tried to pull her hand away, but Riddle grabbed it insistently. He tapped Johnson's hand with his wand. Johnson stopped wincing in pain and almost relaxed until Riddle pulled out another bottle. "No," she whispered tugging at her arm.

"It's alright. I've got the right bottle this time." Riddle splashed Johnson's cut. This time, the cut healed. "I do apologize for my initial mistake. I hope you'll forgive me for my carelessness."

Johnson finally managed to retrieve her arm. "You'll get in trouble for this."

"For what?" Riddle asked innocently. "For healing a classmate after she cut herself or for making a common mistake?"

Johnson stared back at Riddle as if she had never seen him before. "You- Why? For Nott?"

"I don't know what your referring to, but Nott is a friend of mine. In fact, I would greatly appreciate if you changed your mind and apologized to him." Riddle got to his feet and held up a hand for Johnson which she ignored standing up on her own.

Reluctantly, she turned to Nott. "I'm sorry," she said staring at Nott's feet.

"There now. That wasn't too hard." Riddle waved his wand at the door spelling it open. "You really should get back to your rounds."

Johnson hurried out of the room. Blaise watched her go with a sick feeling. When he looked back to the occupants of the room, he saw self-satisfied smirks. Riddle's eyes flickered over to Blaise studying him briefly before returning to Nott. "Let me know if she bothers you again."

Nott nodded fervently. "Thank you."

That night, memories from seventh year plagued Blaise yet again. A drop of bobotuber pus was no comparison to the cruciatus, but the parallels were still there. As Blaise watched Johnson whimper in pain, he was drawn back to all the times he sat back as fellow students suffered from a crucio. He didn't like that he'd found himself in a similar position once again. And Tom Riddle was responsible for each time.


	19. Chapter 19

During breakfast, Blaise received an unlabelled package that he quickly shoved into his bag. With that final delivery, he had all the ingredients needed to make his petrification potion. He waited for his free period then slipped away to the Room of Requirements. He checked on the simmering potion. It had turned a bright, yellow color which meant Blaise hadn't messed up so far. Taking out the package he received during breakfast, Blaise placed it onto the table. He vanished the contained fire heating up the cauldron. Only after applying three clockwise stirs, Blaise opened the package.

A bottle filled with a cloudy, white liquid- acromantula venom- rolled into Blaise's hand. Blaise opened the bottle and performed a few tests to make sure the venom was authentic. Satisfied, he recapped the bottle and set it aside. He'd have to wait a week for the potion to cool and settle, but then he could add the last of the ingredients.

He had to be extra careful when he added the acromantula venom. The magical spider's venom had petrification properties in the right doses. Too little of the venom and it hardly slowed movement. Too much and it kill. Acromantula produced their venom slowly which meant they had to be careful in their usage. Usually, acromantula only used enough to impede the movement of their prey preferring to save their venom for more victims. Blaise didn't have plans to use more, so he had free reign to use as much as needed to induce petrification.

Blaise put the bottle of venom in a drawer that appeared in the underside of the table. Once the bottle was stashed, Blaise started stirring the potion again. When the potion started to thicken, he put his wand away and turned to face the door. The wall turned transparent to allow Blaise to make sure the coast was clear. Much to his shock and alarm, Riddle stood across the way staring in Blaise's direction.

Blaise froze, hardly breathing thankful that the transparency of the wall was one way. Did Riddle know about the Room of Requirements? Had he seen Blaise enter the room? With a look of determination, Riddle started to pace in front of the room. Blaise watched with trepidation. He knew he'd been unable to enter the room in seventh year, but he didn't know all the limitations of the room. For all he knew, Riddle had a way to get in while someone else was inside.

After a few tries, Riddle gave up and slumped against the opposite wall. A couple seconds later, he left. Blaise sighed in relief though he really had nothing to feel relieved about. Even if Riddle chose to give up at the moment, he'd likely try again later. Blaise's safe room for brewing no longer felt safe. He gathered the ingredients that he hadn't yet added. He'd have to store them in his protected trunk instead. As for the potion itself, Blaise didn't know a way to discreetly move it without ruining the potion. He'd have to leave it and trust that Riddle wouldn't know how to find it.

Carefully, Blaise exited the room and peeked around the corner of the hall in case Riddle had hung around out of sight. Upon seeing an empty corridor, Blaise continued on his way cautiously. Back at the dorm, Riddle made no mention or hint about the Room of Requirement or Blaise's involvement with it. Blaise hoped that meant Riddle hadn't seen him enter the room. Perhaps Riddle hadn't even known the reason the room wasn't opening for him.

In the days that followed, Blaise felt the urge to check in on his potion but restrained from doing so. He didn't want to risk Riddle catching him in the room. Blaise resolved to avoid the room until the time came to finish the potion.

With this new addition on top of everything else happening in Blaise's life, he felt constantly distracted. He had too many worries on his mind- Geddes' task, the petrification potion, his disruption of time, and the increasing danger of living in the same room as Riddle. Riddle's attack on Johnson was far beyond what Blaise had witnessed from him up to that point. Blaise had seen Johnson a few times after Riddle had harmed and threatened her. As she was a Gryffindor a year below Blaise, he had no memory of seeing Johnson previously. Now, he noticed her even while she sat at the farthest table from Slytherin in the Great Hall. Anytime Blaise saw her, she looked uneasy. Even if she laughed with her friends, the laugh was short. Perhaps she had always acted so, but Blaise assumed she was shaken up from the recent attack.

After Blaise's last class of the day, Johnson caught Blaise's eyes as the two passed each other in the hall. Flinching, Johnson swiftly turned her head down and picked up her pace. Blaise continued on his way trying to forget the interaction. He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice Black until she latched onto his arm and tugged it while saying, "Follow me. I've something to show you."

Blaise gently pried his arm free and halted. "I'm perfectly capable of walking on my own actually. What are you doing?" Black rarely sought him outside of the library and had never tried to drag him somewhere.

"Oh, sorry, but I found something that could help you with your strange project. If you come with me, I can show you," Black said impatiently.

Blaise felt dubious about Black's claim but decided it couldn't hurt to humor her. "Alright. Lead the way."

Black smiled in satisfaction and continued walking. "We're just going to the library. I didn't know if you were going today, so I figured I'd make sure."

"The library," Blaise repeated in disgruntlement. "I haven't managed to find anything useful there yet."

"That's because you didn't know where to look," Black said. "Luckily for you, I'm immensely interested in disease and injuries. And their remedies, of course."

Blaise eyed her askance as the last part sounded like an afterthought. "You have some morbid interests," Blaise said curiously.

"When I was young, my grandfather came down with dragon pox. I remember being fascinated by the green skin and blemishes adorning his skin. My parents kept me away from him so I couldn't catch the illness, but I wanted to look at him, to study him. I suppose that makes me a strange child- disturbing even- but I've wanted to know about any unique symptoms after that."

"I see," Blaise said thoughtfully. "I never had much interest in disease itself."

"I imagine most people don't, but some diseases are awfully extraordinary. For instance, vanishing sickness," Black said. "Sometimes, people's limbs vanish without explanation. Healers have figured out how to recover the limbs, but they don't know what causes it."

Blaise almost slipped up and told Black that vanishing sickness occurred when a wizard caught the bug from a demiguise. In demiguises, the disease caused spontaneous invisibility rather than their typical controlled invisibility. In wizards, the disease caused partial vanishing. Blaise didn't know anymore about vanishing sickness. All he knew was common knowledge, at least back in his time. From what Black had just said, the cause hadn't been found yet. If he'd unwittingly imparted future knowledge onto Black, he would've had some explaining to do.

Relieved that he caught himself, Blaise instead said, "Are you planning to research illnesses after school?"

"Eventually, I think. I want to work as a healer at least for a little while. My morbid fascination with diseases aside, I'd like to help rid people of those diseases."

"I think you might scare off your patients if you start talking about how extraordinary their symptoms are," Blaise said.

Black chuckled. "I'll develop a bedside manner. I'm pretty sure I'll at least have the sense to pretend to be a normal healer."

The two stopped their conversation as they entered the library. As Black led him to the restricted section, Blaise noted in surprise that he had enjoyed his small conversation with Black.

"This is the book," Black whispered thrusting a dusty tome towards Blaise and interrupting his pondering. Blaise took the book and read over the title, _Rare_ _Magical Ailments and Cures_.

"Why is this in the restricted section?" he asked.

"This book contains advanced spells." Black pointed her wand at the book in Blaise's arms. The book opened and flipped through its pages stopping on ebbing magic syndrome. "Read through that section and tell me if you think that helps."

As told, Blaise leaped through the writings on ebbing magical syndrome. The symptom of said syndrome was a hefty loss in magical power. The syndrome was treated with a mixture of pixie dust and shredded mandrake which worked together to bring out the magic of the ailing wizard.

"You think this treatment can be used to enhance magical properties of potions ingredients?" Blaise asked for clarification.

"I don't know if it will translate, but I figured I should at least show you."

"It sounds promising, but if it worked, I'd think it would be used in squib potions," Blaise said.

"No, it wouldn't. Magicless potions could end up in the hands of muggles. I'm certain there are rules in place to prevent any major advances in that area. It's too dangerous," Black explained.

Blaise nodded. Her reasoning made sense. "Thank you for helping me with this."

"You're welcome. Just let me know if it works."

"I will," Blaise promised.

Black would have to wait for that confirmation since Blaise still had a ways to go until he could tell if the mixture worked. He needed to do calculations to predict the reactions of pixie dust and mandrake leaf with the sleeping draught's ingredients. Also, he needed to find a way to test how effective the mixture was at enhancing magical properties. Even if he did all that and it worked, he still didn't know the final ingredient Geddes wanted him to replace. Despite all the work Blaise had left, he felt cautiously optimistic about the new find.

He entered his dorm in a lighter mood than usual- a mood that dimmed when he saw Rosier standing in the middle of the dorm smiling and talking with Lestrange. Upon seeing Blaise, Rosier's lips twisted in distaste. At Rosier's change in expression, Lestrange turned to face Blaise. "Ah, Marsden. Arche is back," Lestrange informed him unnecessarily.

"I'm not blind," Blaise said in irritation. He hadn't expected Rosier back for at least another week. Blaise's potion would finish in a couple of weeks, and Rosier would be gone more permanently then. Still, Blaise had originally hoped to only deal with Rosier again for two days at most.

"See you tomorrow, Corvus," Rosier said to Lestrange and disappeared behind his bed curtains. At least, Rosier hadn't immediately antagonized Blaise upon his return.

"He really despises you," Lestrange stated with a tinge of amusement.

"There has been some indication of that," Blaise said sardonically. "How has he already been pardoned?"

Lestrange smiled haughtily. "Connections, Marsden. It's always about connections. With Abraxas' father on the school board and Dippet's favorite student, Tom, vouching for Rosier, the board decided Rosier deserved a second chance. Goodnight, Marsden."

Blaise stared after Lestrange as he headed to his bed. Riddle and his friends had more influence already than Blaise thought.


End file.
